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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



"P^-.^<^^' 



Shelf S. 57 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



/ 



MARYT.REILEY'S POEMS. 




\_ ■ \' \ \ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by 

ANN CARROLL REILEY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Printed by 

Naar. Day & Naab, 

Trenton, N. J, 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Preface, . . vii 

Memoir, .... ix 

Unnamed, .... 5 
Longer Poems — 

Water Lilies, . . . .87 

The Holy Grail, . 94 
Class Song, .... 103 

Sir Wulfere's Quest, . . 104 

Voices, . . . .114 

The Rover, . 120 

In the South, . . .128 

Retrospect, . . ... 136 

Heart's Desire, .140 

Long Ago, 146 

Taking the Veil, .152 

Solomon Grundy, . . 161 

Origin of the Valentine, . . 166 



IV. 



Dialect Poems — 




Frank De Lee, 


175 


The High Water, 


181 


John Gair, .... 


190 


The Carpet-Bagger, . 


• 199 


Miscellaneous Poems — 




Southern Woods, . 


209 


Mistletoe, 


2TI 


Cedar and Pine, 


213 


Decoration Day, 


214 


All-Merciful Love, 


218 


Trust, .... 


221 


Eighteen, .... 


223 


The School Mistress, . 


225 


A Fragment, 


229 


Indian Pipe, 


- 233 


If You Held Your Hand to Me, . 


235 


Flowers, 


239 


A Storm, .... 


240 


A Prayer, 


241 


The Empty Nest, 


242 


Dead Love, 


246 



Page. 

A Haunt, .... 249 

A Sunset, . . . .251 

Past and Future, . . 253 

Louisiana, .... 254 

The Death Angel, . . 256 

Parting, . . . .257 

Absolvo Te, . 259 

Doubts, ..... 262 
The Baby, .... 263 

I Weep, ..... 264 
Weaving, . . . • 265 

Love, ..... 267 
The Ring, .... 268 

Gone, ..... 269 
Melusina, .... 270 

A Valentine, .273 

Flowers, . . . 274 

Sonnet to Keats, 275 

I HAVE MUCH To DO, • . 276 



PREFACE. 



These poems were consigned to my care for com- 
pilation as they were left by the author at her early 
and sudden death. A few had been published, but 
the majority were in abstract books, or on scraps of 
paper, just as she had first written them with little 
or no revision from her after-thought. Only a few, 
and scarcely noticeable, alterations have been made 
by the editor. Some, perhaps, have been retained 
from loving recollections of the times and places in 
which they were written that the author's matured 
taste and judgment would have rejected. The wood- 
cut which illustrates the "Indian Pipe" was made 
from the author's own drawing, and generously of- 
fered to her friends by the publishers of "The Pacific 
Rural Press" in which paper the poem originally ap- 
peared. Her last work she had prepared for publi- 
cation except giving to it a name. I have called it 



VIII. 



as she left it, "Unnamed." A number of the mis- 
cellaneous poems also had no titles. Where the name 
seemed to grow out of the poem, or where I remem- 
bered what she liked, I have given names to such. 
Several I have been unable to name appropriately. 

To the work I have given only the patient care of 
a great love, wishing that the taste of a poet and the 
skill of a scholar had been mine to give. 

Ed. 



MARY T. REILEY. 



The unfulfilled promise of this bright young life is 
one of the sad losses brought by the yellow fever 
which desolated so many southern homes in the sum- 
mer and autumn of 1878. 

Mary T. Reiley was born at Blairstown, New 
Jersey, May 18, 1858. Her father the Rev. John 
A. Reiley was an earnest and efficient minister of 
the Presbyterian church. Her mother, whose maid- 
en name was Ann Carroll, was until her marriage a 
member of the society. of Friends. 

Mr. Reiley in 1866 removed with his family con- 
sisting of his wife and seven children, four sons and 
three daughters, to Oak Grove, a large plantation ten 
miles from Clinton, Louisiana. 

May, as she was always called by her family and 
intimate friends, then seven years old, was the fifth 
child and youngest daughter. The childhood which 



she recalled in after years was spent in the sunny 
south. The flowers, the skies, the trees, the air the 
very warmth of which she seemed to love to her were 
rich in memories and freighted with fancies. As a 
child she was remarkable for her loving and lovable 
disposition, her loyalty to truth, the tenderness that 
would spare the smallest insect pain, her early fond- 
ness for reading, the rapidity with which she learned, 
and the readiness with which she recalled. 

There are royal methods of passage over the com- 
mon road to learning ; hers, the sw^ift easy flight of 
the meadow lark above the dust and toil of weary 
plodders. But nobler and better than the sweet song 
that cheered their way was the willing help and en- 
couragement she gave to those who could neither 
sing nor fly. 

She began io write when very young, but most of 
her early poems are without dates and many of them 
have been lost. There is a little poem addressed to 
her mother written at the age of eleven; "Weav- 
ing" was written at fifteen ; " Voices," begun at six- 
teen and finished three years after. Nearly all the 



XI. 



poems published were written during the last three 
years of her life. 

Her creative thought was remarkably spontaneous 
and under its control she composed with wonderful 
rapidity, showing on some occasions the rare power 
of improvising. During the recital of "Decoration 
Day' ' on that Day of Memories, a year ago, several 
lines of the poem escaped her mind and she impro- 
vised others, she alone knowing that anything was 
missing or made. "Heart's Desire" was nearly all 
written amid the noise and confusion of a fifteen 
minutes' recess at school. At one of the meetings 
of a literary .society of which she was a member, 
there were unexpected visitors present. The presi- 
dent was mortified on account of having a meager 
programme, and noticing Miss Reiley's pencil busy 
during the exercises ventured to call upon her. To 
the surprise and delight of all she read a witty poem 
describing and explaining the situation. 

Many of the humorous things she wrote were so 
related to incidents local and temporary in their 
interest as to be unintelligible to the general reader. 



XII. 



Her humor was fine and delicate, and, though not 
one of the strongest elements of her poetical power, 
hardly finds a sufiicient representation in her printed 
works. 

Her last work " Unnamed" was written during the 
latter part of July and August 1878. When we real- 
ize that this work was done in the intense heat of a 
southern summer, during a few weeks after her return 
home following three years confinement in school, un- 
der the immense strain upon her sensibilities caused 
by the sympathies and anxieties occasioned by the 
reports of the approaching fever, and interrupted by 
her attendance upon her younger brother during a 
dangerous illness ; we can only wonder at the power 
God shrined for a little while in her slight form then 
called to its more fitting place with him. 

Her education was conducted at home, with the 
exception of one year spent at a boarding school in 
Clinton, until, at the age of seventeen, in September 
1875, ^^^ came north to attend the State Normal 
School at Trenton, New Jersey ; from which she 
was graduated June 27, 1878 with the highest hon- 



XIII. 



ors, having given in scholarship and original work 
evidence of being the most gifted student of whom 
the School has record. 

Soon after her graduation she returned to her 
southern home. So eager and anxious was she to 
see the dear ones from whom she had been sepa- 
rated so long and the home she loved so much that 
friends who would gladly have kept her north until 
autumn consented to her going. No thought of the 
terrible fever, which did not appear in New Orleans 
until three weeks after, and which had never been in 
the neighborhood of her home, gave anxiety to those 
who held her dear. 

The father died on the 30th of September, the 
eldest sister Miss Amy, on the 15 th of October, 
Mary T., on the i6th, and during the following 
week Mrs. Nesom her remaining sister, and her 
brother William. 

Such is a brief record of the life that went out in 
the glory and promise of its twentieth year. But 
who shall write of what she 7vas ? 



XIV. 



" What practice howsoe'er expert 
In fitting aptest words to things 
Or voice the richest-toned that sings 
" Hath power to give thee as thou wert ?" 
Thine was the poet's gift of song; thine, the noble 
and pure in girlhood, the strong and true in woman- 
hood, the faithful and fearless in Christian love. 

Across the night of our sorrow and loss there ling- 
ers yet thy memory, dimmed by no regret, darkened 
by no doubt. Down the dreary way of the days that 
are to come, where the voice of singing is no longer 
heard, nor perfume felt, nor beauty seen, we peer 
into the gray, striving by faith to catch, far off, a 
gleam of the radiance of thy present, praying that it 
may our future be. 

H. M. 



UNNAMED. 

1878. 



LOVINGLY DEDICATED 

TO 

MARY I. VAIL, 

IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE PROMISE 

OF 

OUR SCHOOL DAYS. 



UNNAMED. 



CHAPTER ONE. 



THOUGHT the past was dead, 

But it revives once more. 
I thought the grief was fled, 
But it returns once more. 
And oh the cruel pain ! 
It wakes to life again. 
And all my strength is vain 
And all my hopes are o'er. 

I thought the dream was dead, 
Laid in the grave of years. 

I thought they all were shed. 
The piteous burning tears. 

But out of the past's dark halls 

A passionate spirit calls 

And the dead comes forth again. 



UNNAMED. 

I thought I could look in his face 

With never a sigh of regret. 
I thought 'twas an easy thing 

The old sweet dream to forget. 
But what, when I look in his eyes, 
If a tender light should arise — 
A light I have seen before — 
And kindle to life once more 
The dying flame of regret ? 

And oh ! will it never vanish — 
The ghost of the buried years ? 

And oh ! must I always remember, 
Remember with falling tears ? 

Shall I never cease to sigh 

For a time gone forever by 

And a love that returns no more ? 

If only I need not see them — 
The places where we have been ! 

We were here when the leaves were falling, 
We were here when the fields were green. 



UNNAMED. 

We have trodden these paths together, 
We have wandered beneath these trees, 

And I think I should not remember 
If I could escape from these. 

And if only I need not see him 

Ever or ever again, 
I think it would fade and vanish, 

This piteous, gnawing pain. 
But he is coming, coming, 

And I must look in his eyes, 
And I tremble lest I shall see there 

The light that I know arise. 

And if only I need not see her. 

Need not look in her face, 
The woman who stands beside him 

In what should be my place ! 
For they say she is tall and stately 

And her face is sweet as a prayer, 
And I know if her husband loves her 

I shall die of a dull despair. 



UNNAMED. 

I met his sister this morning 

But she looked the other way. 
She will never cease to hate me 

That I once a "no" did say. 
But why should she not forgive me ? 

Her brother has found a wife, 
So it cannot be that my shadow 

Darkened for long his life. 

And oh if she only knew it ! 

How hard it was to speak 
The word that broke forever 

The tie that should never break. 
And oh if she knew how bitter 

Is this lonely life I live ! 
I think, though she is his sister. 

She could not help but forgive. 

I wonder if he is happy, 

If he never thinks of the past. 

If he never thinks of a sorrow 
That, he said, would always last ; 



UNNAMED. 

If he never dreams in the evening 

Of a time he cannot forget 
Till his soul grows sick with longing, 

And a passionate, vague regret. 

If it were only over, 

If I had only seen 

The man with his wife beside him 

Whose wife I should have been, 

I think I could forget him. 

But it always seems to me 

He still is the faithful lover 

He always used to be. 

The very last time I saw him — 

The memory will remain — 

His eyes were dim and heavy 

With a dull reproachful pain. 

Would he look at me so to-morrow, 
If to-morrow we should meet ? 

Oh ! that look would wound me cruelly, 
But pain is sometimes sweet. 



lO UNNAMED. 

Or would he stand there smiling 
With a smiling wife at his side, 

And bow to me, coolly, calmly, 
With careless, happy pride ? 

I know not which would be harder, 

Which of the two to bear. 
May God help me to forget him 

So well that I shall not care. 

I sat last night in the twilight 

And watched the day grow dim. 
What time the sorrowing south winds 

Were singing their vesper hymn. 
The soft stars shone in the stillness, 

Up the sky the moon did glide, 
When sudden the ghost of a buried pain 

Arose and stood by my side. 
It stayed till the starlight faded. 

And the winds were far away. 
And nothing remained but that shadowy form 

Uncertain, and vague, and gray. 



UNNAMED. 1 1 

It is over, it is past, 

I have seen his face at last. 

Have seen his face grow white with pain, 

With a sudden longing, intense and vain. 

And I know that he has not forgotten. 

That he cannot ever forget. 

I know that he has not forgotten, 

I know that he loves me yet. 

It was just when the night was falling, 

And the west began to fade, 
That I suddenly came upon them 

As they walked in the cypress glade. 
I came, unawares, upon them 

As they stood by a cypress tree, 
And a sudden change swept over his face 

As he turned and looked at me. 

As if he had seen a spirit 

He neither spoke nor stirred, 
But stared in my face, until I bowed 

And passed, with never a word. 



1 2 UNNAMED. 

And I wondered what he was thinking 

As I went over the hill ; 
But I know, whatever his thoughts were, 

I know that he loves me still. 

But oh ! the winsome woman 

He married a year ago, 
Where, and how, did her girlish face 

Find that look of weary woe ? 
O pale, and sad-eyed woman ! 

He has sinned against thee and me, 
But the sin he sinned against me was less 

Than his sin in wedding thee. 

O pale, and sad-eyed woman ! 

God help me to forget ! 
But what can the future hold for thee 

But the pangs of a vain regret ? 



It sings to me in the shadow. 
It sings to me in the sun. 



UNNAMED. 

The sweet, enrapturing music 
Whose strains are never done. 

Oh ! sweet as the voice of a seraph 
It sings and sings to me. 

Oh ! faint, and far, and fading, 

It is ever eluding me. 
Oh ! give me the words, lest I perish, 

That I may sing again 
The wild, enchanting music 

That is deeper than joy or pain. 

Oh ! let the tempests bluster, 
Let all the wild winds blow. 

I loved my love in a golden clime 
Years and years ago. 

But the hard and cruel fairies. 
They stole my love from me 

And bore him away to a pearly throne 
Far under the shining sea. 



13 



H 



UNNAMED. 

They changed him into a merman, 

Whose blood is icy cold, 
Who thinks no more, who dreams no more, 

Of the tender days of old. 

But let the tempests bluster. 

Let all the wild winds blow. 
He loved me true in a golden clime 

Years and years ago. 

If I could put my sorrows into words, 

Methinks my grief would fade. 
If into music I could change my pain, 

The sweetest ever made. 

If I could turn my sore heart's dripping blood 

To words of blood and flame, 
I would be willing so to live again 

A hundred years the same. 

Oh ! silvery white upon the Latmian isle 
The fair Endymion slept. 



UNNAMED. 1 5 

Oh ! silvery white the goddess o'er him bowed, 
And love's hot teardrops wept. 

But fair Endymion, he stirred, he woke. 

The rapture broke his rest. 
And far within blue depths the saintly moon 

Slept upon heaven's breast. 

Methinks, alas ! I am Endymion, 

But Dian, who art thou ? 
Fair figure with the backward sweeping robes 

And filleted, white brow. 



Sleeping, sleeping, the vision came ; 
Waking, waking, the vision fled ; 
And my heart is sick, and my blood aflame, 
But my hope is dead, my hope is dead. 

Over the mountain, and over the moor. 
Silvery garments shimmer and shine, 
In her wonderful beauty she walks secure 
Wrapped in the robe of a light divine. 



1 6 UNNAMED. 

Murmurous music flows and floats, 
The air about me is sweet with sound. 
In the bliss of the faint and far-off notes 
The sounds of the world for me are drowned. 

Softly sighing adown the breeze 
From the elysian meadows blown, 
A voice more sweet than murmuring seas 
Calls to me, calls, " Endymion." 

A shadowy form with wreathed arms 
Woos from a cloud of amethyst 
On before, till her half-seen charms 
Changing and vanishing fade into mist. 

Always anear me, yet always afar, 
A vision seen, and clasped, and gone. 
A face above like a beautiful star, 
A voice that whispers, "Endymion." 

Never, that star, while days go by, 
Will shine on me with steadier gleam ; 



UNNAMED. 1 7 

Only under the moonlit sky 

I clasp my Beautiful in my dream. 



Yet the far-off music greets my ear, 
My soul is filled with its tender tone ; 
And on the flying winds I hear 
A sweet voice calling, " Endymion." 

To-day I met him as I walked alone 

The quiet forest road. 
And swift, at seeing me, a sudden light 

Within his dark eyes glowed. 

I passed him by, he turned abrupt and said, 

"Rejoice in what you see. 
My house is left unto me desolate, 

Your hand has ruined me." 

My heart beat quick within me at his words. 

I turned away my head. 
"Oh mock me not with what yourself have 
done, 

Your own hand's work!" I said. 



1 8 UNNAMED. 

" My work !" he slowly answered, and his 
voice 

Was hoarse, and changed, and low. 
" I loved you better than my own soul's life, 

And can you wrong me so ? 

The weary days crept by and made the weeks, 
The weeks have made the years ; 

And life has brought me nothing yet more glad 
Than slow, remorseful tears. 

The day and night are all alike to me, 

For dark are all my days. 
A pall of night has settled o'er my life 

And marred its pleasant ways. 

Forgive me that I say it. I am mad ! 

I know not what I say. 
Forgive me for the madness you have caused 

And I will go my way. 

Because I love you I will not unbraid ; 
You could not love me true. 



UNNAMED. I Q 

Alas ! and what was I to seek to mate 
So low a soul with you?" 

I stopped him there, " You shall not wrong 
me so. 

My love was deep as life." 
I said no more. Before my spirit gaze 

I saw the sad-eyed wife. 

I would have gone, but he constrained me still. 

" One question answer me. 
If I had come to you as once I came, 

Pure from that stain, and free, 

Could you have loved me even yet, my love, 

After the weary years?" 
He caught my hands, he looked into my eyes, 

My eyes were dim with tears. 

I caught my hands away. I turned and fled. 

God help me ! What was I 
That I should throw away the precious love 

For which I fain would die? 



20 UNNAMED. 

Every morn 
When a new day to the earth is born, 
The soft light kisses my waking eyes, 
The soft winds say, Awake, arise. 
See what glories grow out of the gray. 

Behold the day. 

Every night 
The far stars shine with trembling light. 
The winds are sighing unsatisfied. 
The want of the world is unsupplied. 
The glory has faded and died away 

Into the gray. 

I am weary, weary, weary. 

Weary of day and night, 
I would that my ears were deaf to sound 

And my eyes were blind to sight. 
Since I hear not the one sweet music, 

And see not the one dear face. 
What to me are all other sounds. 

All other beauty and grace ? 



UNNAMED. 2 1 

The one true friend of my childhood 

Stood at my door to-day, 
And, "Child," he said, "You are white as a 
ghost. 

What is the matter? Say!" 

The one true friend of my childhood, 

He knew the tale of the past, 
And I said, "He has come, and I shall die 

If this horrible pain must last." 
His face grew kind and tender. 

He looked at me pityingly, 
"Child," he said, "You are young and weak ; 

Give your burden to me. 
Come to my heart, my blossom, 

I will teach you how to forget. 
I will show you, darling, a tenderer love 

Than you have dreamed of yet." 
But I shrank away and whispered, 

"I can love no more, no more. 
Dead is love's flower within my soul, 

Poisoned the fruit it bore. 



22 UNNAMED. 

Oh ! my heart is dust and ashes, 

Thence never can new love bloom ; 
Deep in my soul a grave is made, 

And love lies in that tomb." 
"O Child, Child, Child," he said, 

"What of love do you know? 
What is that weak and trivial boy 

That you should grieve for him so ? 
O Child, Child, Child," he said, 

" What do you know of pain ? 
Would you make the love of all these years 

For a girlish fancy vain ? 
That love is over and perished. 

You love him not, it is dead." — 
"I love him with all the soul of my life, 

With all my heart," I said. 
His face grew pale before me. 

His voice grew suddenly stern, 
"The man you love has a wife," he said, 

"You forget where his love must turn." 

Forget ! Nay, I remember. 
Oh ! I remember well. 



23 



UNNAMED. 

He loves me, loves me, loves me, 

More than my lips can tell. 

He loves me, loves me, loves me ! 

Can such a love be sin ? 

But the sad-eyed sorrowful woman 

Can never such sweet love win. 



stern white face of my childhood's friend 
Why do you gaze at me ? 

Why do you haunt me, sorrowful wife ? 
What have I done to thee ? 

1 do not love him, I cannot love him, 
And strange to me it seems 

How the face of a man I do not love 

Gets tangled into my dreams. 
But that face it is never tender, 

It looks at me stern and pale, 
And all alone in the darkness 

It makes rne shrink and quail. 



24 



UNNAMED. 

I met him to-day in the meadow 

Where we plighted our troth lang syne, 

And he held out his hand as he passed me 
For the rose I held in mine. 

Did I mean to give him the rosebud ? 

Or did I but let it fall ? 
Why should he ask for a rosebud ? 

And what is it worth after all ? 



They call, the far sweet voices. 

They call and cry to me, 
"Sing us again the songs we sing 

Over and over to thee." 
But when I fain would sing them 

The mystical words are gone, 
And I think how lone upon Latmos' shore 

Sat sad Endymion. 

If I should give up all that I have loved, — 
My life of careless ease, 



UNNAMED. 25 

The long days filled with day dreams, the 
long nights 

With pleasant fantasies, 
If I should give up all, and lay my life 

Down low before thy feet. 
Could I be sure of gaining what I seek, 

O Goddess proud and sweet ? 
If I should toil through weary years and 
years. 

And work in grief and pain. 
Could I be certain that my faithful toil 

Would not be all in vain ? 
Oh ! still it seems to me, I cannot yet 

Give it up all, up all, 
Although for me love's rosy-tinted hours 

Are gone beyond recall. 
How can I be content to live through all the 
years 

And ever be alone ? 
Wast thou contented on the Latmian isle, 

White-limbed Endymion ? 



2 6 UNNAMED. 

I cannot get rid of the hateful words, — 

The words of my childhood's friend, — 
"Have you thought of what you are doing? 

Have you thought where this must end?" 
I have sinned no sin though my heart is sore ; 

Have given my love no sign. 
What is a faded and withered rose 

Betwixt his heart and mine ? 

stern of face and stern of voice, 
Why do you follow me ? 

1 am no child to slip and fall. 

I ask no help of thee. 
Why do you haunt me ever ? 

Begone, nor come again ! 
For I know your voice is stern and cold 

Though your face is white with pain. 
One man has kissed my lips, 

And that is enough for me. 
One love has filled my heart. 

There never another shall be. 

A letter lies on my table, 

And the writing I have not forgot. 



UNNAMED. 

A letter lies on my table, 

Shall I break the seal or not ? 

sad -eyed, sorrowful woman, 
Would your pale face flush to see 

The writing upon the letter 

That is lying here by me ? 
Oh I had greeted this letter 

With kisses long ago ! 
And now it lies beside me, — 

Shall I break the seal or no ? 

THE LETTER. 

What a flood of recollections 

Sweeps over heart and brain, 
As I trace your name on the paper, 

After the years again ! 
How can I help hut remember 

What pride bids me forget ? 
How can I teach my spirit 

That I may not love you yet? 

1 have striven through all the long years- 
But all in vain I strove — 



27 



28 UNNAMED. 

To hanish the one sweet image 

By another I did not love. 
Enough of that. I write not 

Feebly to make my moan. 
I loill try like a man to hear it 

Silently and alone. 
You know the pitiful story 

How I wedded where love was not. 
Long in the past I told you, 

And the tale is not forgot. 
Divinely you can pity ; 

I saw it in your eyes 
The day that you came upon us 

Suddenly, angelwise, 
And enough of that. The story 

Is painful to you and me. 
Not thus have I broken the silence, 

Which henceforth unbrokeyi must be. 
I have never sent you your letters, 

They were the last sweet tie 
Binding my soul to its heaven 
That far aioay doth lie. 



UNNAMED. 

And I could not bear to sunder 

The golden cord — the last 
That held me to all that was sacred 

To me in the beautiful past. 
But a sense of your right constrains me. 

Ah me! What right have I 
To hold myself to my heaven 

Even by one sweet tie ? 
To-morrow^ if you will m,eet me 

In the place where we met Ixng syne, 
I will give you back your letters, 

And you shall give me mine. 
Fear not to come for this last time. 

Solemnly, friend, I swear 
I will say no word that the angels 

Could shrink from, hovering there. 
I will say no loord to awaken 

The ghost of the buried past. 
I would only see you a moment 

For the last time, the very last. 

And if I take him his letters? — 
In that there could be no harm, 



29 



30 



UNNAMED. 

Yet from the thought of this meeting 

1 shrink with a vague alarm. 
What would he say about it ? 

My childhood's stern-faced friend. 
"Have you thought what you are doing? 

Have you thought where this must end?" 
It is right I should give him his letters. 

It is right he should give me mine. 
But what if I go to meet him 

Where we plighted our troth lang syne ? — 
But what if I go to meet him 

In our long ago trysting place ? 
Should I ever shrink, O sorrowful wife, 

From your pale, reproachful face ? 
And why should I care for my letters ? 

They are nothing now to me. 
Better give them up to devouring flame 

Or toss them into the sea. 
I seem to care for nothing, 

For life, or love, or light. 
I have lived so long I am weary. 

And my strength is faded quite. 



UNNAMED. 3 1 

I cannot forget the words he spake, 

Herman, my childhood's friend. — 
"Have you thought of what you are doing ? 

Have you thought where this must end?" 
I will look on the past and future, 

Before it is yet too late; 
For I seem to stand on the threshold 

Of some dark, mysterious fate. 
Why are my pulses throbbing ? 

Why burns my cheek with flame, 
At sight of the paper he has touched, 

Where he has traced my name ? 
What mad, sweet dream am I dreaming 

While my fears are hushed to sleep ? 
Shall I ever awake from this torpor ? 

Awake to mourn and weep ? 
For I seem to stand unconscious 

On some dark cavern's brink. — 
And where this might have ended, 

O God, I dare not think. 
I will go away and forget him 

For I cannot forget him here 



32 



UNNAMED. 

I will give myself soul and body 
To the work that I hold most dear. 

I will never see his face again 
I will think of him never more. 

I will sing a dirge for the beautiful dead 
Whose sorrowful life is o'er. 

The seasons come, the seasons fade, 
Deep in my heart a grave is made, 
A still, cold form is in it laid. 

The flowers bloom, and fade, and fall, 
The clouds hang low and like a pall, 
The ghostly winds each other call. 

The dead lies calm within its grave, 
And hears no winds of winter rave. 
Its rest is still. Deep is that grave. 

A Secret folded round from sight, 
A Secret dread, and cold, and white. 
Shrouded in silence, wrapped in night. 



UNNAMED. 33 

Silent I sit beside my dead, 

The hours keep their wonted tread, 

My soul to grief long since was wed. 

Grief watches while the sun is high. 
Nor sleeps while stars are in the sky. 
We, watching, see the years go by. 
The still, unchanging years go by. 

Now all is over ! Yet a moment's space 
Furl back, O mists of time, from off the face 
Of my dead love, and let me gaze thereon. 

Now all is over ! Three short years agone 
How were all words too weak, all looks too 

cold, 
To tell the love whose deep tide ever rolled 
From his heart unto mine unceasingly. 

Now all is over ! Then this thing can be. 
And love, the true, the tender, and the deep. 
Can fade as fades the vision of a sleep 
And leave behind no trace that it hath been. 



34 



UNNAMED. 

Sunset upon the waters, 

And sunset in my soul. 

The light of the cloudy day goes out 

With a golden anreole. 

The weary struggle is over, 

From pain I have found release ; 

I walk in a quiet country 

Beside the white-robed Peace. 

I watch and pray for the dawning, 

May it herald a better day. 

A day that shall banish the phantoms 

That lurk in the shadows gray. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

The waving hair of the willows 

Is long upon the breeze, 
The clouds are the beautiful billows 

Of azure deeps of seas. 

The winds are the summer's kisses, 
On laughing lips they fall. 

God fills the earth with blisses, 
And his love is over all. 



UNNAMED. 32 

O brave true heart, upon whose strength Ilean, 

And resting there grow strong, 
Forgive me that in madness once, I did 

Thy truth and kindness wrong. 

O brave strong spirit, in whose strength I trust, 

And trusting it, find rest. 
Of all good gifts to me thy friendship is 

The dearest and the best. 



I have bowed low and worshiped at the shrine 

Where dwells the Beautiful. 
The past indeed is past, and life for me 

Is round, complete, and full. 

God, I thank thee that thy guiding hand 
Has thus far led me on. 

1 thank thee that the present still is mine 
And that the past is gone. 

I thank thee that more dear than love's wild 
dream 
Thy hand has given me 



36 UNNAMED. 



The poet's dream of glory yet untold, 
The poet's ecstasy. 

The name and fame for which I fondly longed 

I know cannot be mine. 
It is enough for me that I have drunk 

The poet's mystic wine. 

My book is finished — my first book, the child 

Beloved of my brain, 
Brought forth in pangs of utter weariness 

And throbs of pain. 

Written in hours of rapture when my soul 

Was filled with life and light, 
And words poured freely forth intense and 
strong 

Instinct with living might, 

They rippled forth like upward gushing streams 

In music flowing on. 
Now all is over. Rapture, pain, despair 

Alike are gone 



UNNAMED. 



Z7 



My one wee book ! What fate awaits thee now 

Torn from the parent nest ? 
Henceforward thou must make thy way alone, 

My first, my best. 

I can do nothing for thee though the world 
Should spurn thee from its feast. 

Go bravely forth, O little book of mine, 
Fly west, fly east. 

Poor little book ! I pity thee, my child. 

Thou art not what I would. 
Thou wilt go forth into the busy world, 

And be misunderstood. 

But if, while great ones spurn thee, thou shalt 
bear 

Comfort to one sad heart, 
I am repaid for all my toil. I am 

Contented, for my part, 

If some sweet maiden trembling with the spell 
Of love just opening, 



38 UNNAMED. 

Find in thy leaves one little, little song 
She shall delight to sing. 



If my book were only worthy 
The name on an opening page, 

It were worthy a name in the records 
Of the noble works of the age. 

For who is so true as my true friend ? 

And none is so wise and strong. 
Forgive me that once, my one friend, 

I did your friendship wrong. 

I wonder if he has forgotten 

What he said to me that day. 
Would my life have been better and nobler 

If I had not said him nay? 

I think of those things calmly 

They lie so far in the past. 
And I know I have heard love's story 

For the last time, the very last. 



UNNAMED. 

Once when my heart was younger, 
When my cheek was not so pale, 

I have felt at a well-known footstep 
The swift blood flood and fail. 

I had half forgotten the feeling 

Which, after all, I know 
Is the sweetest joy that ever 

Our human lives can know. 

Yet oft when the flowers are springing 
In the morning of the year, 

I wake to that hopeless sorrow. 
That old, long-past despair. 

Never again can a new love 
Bloom on the grave of the old, 

Never again while the stars shine 
Shall I hear love's story told. 

I used to long so madly 

For happiness on earth, 
But I feel as I grow older 

That joy is little worth. 



39 



40 UNNAMED. 

Better to live in sorrow, 
To know life's glory past, 

If so in the dusk and shadows 
Some good be done at last. 

Life's colors grow more sober, 
Life's joys seem not so sweet 

To our eyes, as we grow older 
And find all things so fleet. 

Our joys like sorrows perish, 
Not love itself can stay ; 

Ourselves and all around us 
Must change and pass away. 

I sigh no more for splendor, 
I am content with shade, 

Content to be sad and lonely 
Until the daylight fade. 

If only out of the shadows 
Shall shine one burning star 



UNNAMED. 

To gladden, not my pathway, 
But souls that faint afar. 

If only when all is over 

Somewhere, in some sweet heart, 
A song of mine shall linger 

Not ever to depart. 

If, because my life was lonely, 
I leave some word to cheer 

Another soul in the shadows 
When I am no longer here. 

But my songs are all unworthy, 
Till ashamed I bow my head. 

And where my poor voice faltered 
The hot tears come instead. 

When the weary day is over, 
And pale, the glowing west. 

The stars shine white in heaven 
And still my wild unrest. 



41 



42 



UNNAMED. 

So free from earthly sorrow, 

So pure from earthly strife, 
So still, and white, and saintly 

Above the storm of life. 
I forget the restless struggle, 

The baffled search forget. 
While the white stars shine in heaven 

There is beauty to live for yet. 

Somebody liked my wee book. 

Somebody liked it not. 
And the world agreed to lay it aside 

To moulder and be forgot. 

The critics took my wee one 

And tore it limb from limb. 
But Herman said it was like myself 

And therefore dear to him. 

And some one said in a letter, 

"Friend dost thou know thou hast 

Perfumed thy book with the fragrant breath 
Of the balmy land of the past?" 



UNNAMED. 

White in the moonlight lies the world 
Beauty rapt from toil and pain, 

Dreaming dreams perchance of Eden 
And her far-off youth again. 

Would to God the holy quiet 
Now might steal into my soul, 

And that off its face illumined 

Back the clouds of care might roll. 

Dian, sweeter than the starlight, 
Dian, purer than the snow. 

Image of that dream of beauty 
That I worshiped long ago, — 

Over soul and sense is drifting. 
Passion strong, and spirit sweet. 

Once again the mystic story 
How a god and mortal meet. 

Once when youth was at its flood tide. 
And when strength was at its hight, 



43 



44 



UNNAMED. 

I, too, hoped, divinely striving. 
To attain divine delight. 

Like Endymion on Latmos 
I am wrapped in stupor sleep, 

But no god-smile cleaves the darkness 
Of that slumber still and deep. 

Far away, and unattained 
Now as then that vision fair. 

And its beauty fills my spirit 
With an infinite despair. 



I suppose before long I'll be sighing 
The vanished days of my youth, 

I shall find that the gray hairs are coming 
Before I am ready in sooth. 

I shall sit in these rooms solitary. 
And, with my old voice out of tune. 

With no one around to console me, 
To myself I shall mournfully croon, — 



UNNAMED. 4^ 



"I'm very old and there's no one to love me, 
No one to care for my trouble and pain, 
None to remember the lonely old woman. 
Oh for the days of my sweet youth again ! 
Oh for the days when I whirled through the 

dance, 
When life wore the glamour of sweet romance, 
When the clasp of a hand made the whole 

world sweet, 
And my life moved in time to my flying feet ! 
Oh for the days of my plighting kiss 
When nothing in life ever happened amiss ! 
For I'm growing old and there's no one to 

love me, 
No one to care for my troubles or pain. 
None to remember the lonely old woman. 
Oh for the days of life's springtime again !" 



Apparent is the Spirit of the woods. 
She smileth ere she sinks into her sleep. 
The long, long sleep of winter falling down 
Upon her lids as falls the dew on flowers. 



46 UNNAMED. 

The air is dim with autumn's quivering haze, 
The trees are dark with autumn's somber 

robes, 
Save where between their sober ranks of 

brown 
The pine trees lift their heads superbly clear 
Against the glowing azure of the sky. 
In every hollow lie the withered leaves, 
But pine, and bay, and mystic mistletoe. 
Still stand in vivid greenness to declare 
Life sleeps within the wood, and is not death. 
The holly berries gleam upon the boughs, 
The barbed shafts of glossy leaves between ; 
And from the hoary trees, the pendant moss 
Streams long and weird upon the autumn wind 
Like tattered shrouds of years forever gone. 
There is a calm within the ancient woods, 
A solemn hush that calls the soul to prayer. 
Escaped at last from city toil and strife, 
I feel the life of God about my life. 
And all my soul lies open to his love. 
I dream of higher things. I seem to feel 



UNNAMED. 47 

An inspiration from the solemn woods 
And wide autumnal skies. My soul expands 
To grasp the greatness of the thought divine 
That works in forms of beauty 'neath my eyes. 

If he had loved me truly that bright day 

That now is long gone by, 
Would he have suffered me to say him nay 

So quietly? 
It was his tender pitying heart that placed 

Love words upon his tongue. 
He grieved to see me left so lone, and sad, 

And yet so young. 
He would have given me such tender care 

I should not ever miss. 
In the new joy, the wild ecstatic thrill 

Of first love's kiss. 
But that is past for me. Alas ! it seems 

That everything is past. 
There is no joy of earth however sweet 

Whose life can last. 



48 UNNAMED. 

I sit here shocked and silent ! 

pale and sad -eyed wife, 

Was thy husband never a whit to blame 

That thou wast weary of life ? 
I sit here shocked and silent 

And my cheeks are hot with shame, 
That thou wast sick of the burden of life 

Was I never a whit to blame ? 
O Louis, Louis, Louis, 

Thou wast false to me lang syne. 
Thou hast been how false to the gentle girl 

Whose life was merged in thine. 
O Louis, Louis, Louis, 

What would thy hard heart care 
If a dozen women as sweet as she 

Should die of love's despair? 
O Louis, Louis, Louis, 

1 pray to God above 

To save my soul from the cruel snare 
Of thy wild and selfish love ! 



UNNAMED. 49 

I have come through the bustle hither 

To hear some Solons explain 
What the rights of a woman on earth are, 

And decide whether she shall remain. 
The speaker who holds the chief station 

Is very well known to me ; 
He is a doctor of laws, and of logic, 

And I think of divinity. 

The doctor has turned on the faucet 

Of the well-spring of knowledge now. 
Behold the deep corrugations 

That learning has carved on his brow ! 
Behold as his thoughts soar higher 

How they carry his eyebrows along ! 
And his voice swells up with a deafening roar 

That would madden the genius of song. 
Capacious, enormous, stupendous. 

And more, is the doctor's mind; 
For all of his vast personality 

Within it is snugly enshrined, — 
A grand, white image of beauty 

Symmetrical, perfect, and fair. 



50 



UNNAMED. 

And ever around it his hovering talk 

Lingers, or flies here and there, 
Then back to the thing that attracts it, 

Like a bird that hangs quivering o'er 
The serpent's eye that has charmed it 

And, leaving, comes back evermore. 
With all that vast weight to withhold them 

No wonder in trying to fly 
His thoughts overburdened grow weary 

And never pierce far in the sky. 
Of old one King Midas, the same one 

Who had very long ears as we're told, 
Had a wonderful power of turning 

Whatever he touched into gold. 
The doctor 's like Midas in one thing, — 

I don't mean the length of his ears, — 
Which is, that whatever he touches 

In a figurative sense disappears 
And assumes a new form in an instant ; 

Not just in the old Midas way. 
For these things turn earthy and dreamlight 

Grows the commonest light of day. 



UNNAMED. 5 1 

He touches the angels, and, presto ! 

They're clayey, and weak, and frail ; 
Their glory is wan and faded ; 

The glow of their beauty is pale. 
And heaven itself, at his mention, 

Is paved with the poorest of gold 
That was mined for so much a nugget. 

And was probably bought and sold. 

The man that sits next to the doctor 

For a poet of fancy was made ; 
But Necessity, hard-hearted spinster. 

Her hand on his shoulder has laid, 
And said, "Leave your dreams and your 
visions. 

The haunting sweet voices that call. 
Go, teach to the young generation 

That this planet is round like a ball." 
He has bartered the visions of glory 

To the, which, as his right, he was born. 
For the blackboard, the crayon, the ferule ; 

And he dies of a bitter self-scorn. 



52 



UNNAMED. 

Poor poet ! Like Esau his father 
He has given his birthright for gain, 

And finds no place for repentance 

Though he seek for it, yearning, in pain. 

That woman, I wish I could paint her ! 

So placid, self-poised, and strong, 
Who knows only one thing she shrinks from, 

A word or a thought that is wrong. 
She is like to a fountain in summer 

Whose margin with dew is impearled. 
Clear, pure, and deep, and whose being 

Is spent for the good of the world. 

Said Herman, "Don't grow strong-minded, 

Be as brilliant and wise as you can. 
But remember the work of a woman 

Is never the work of a man." 
I wonder if I am strong-minded. 

My head feels sufficiently weak 
To make me a womanly woman, 

I'll not wait for another to speak. 



UNNAMED. 

But across the rows of faces 

What face at me looks pale ? 
My treacherous cheeks are burning 

As I hastily draw my vail. 
And I hurry away from the speaking 

Into the open street, 
And I hurry, hurry homeward 

Lest a well-known face I meet. 
That well-known face, I could paint it 

As it looked 'neath my girlhood's skies, 
Tender, and proud, and pathetic, 

With its haunting beautiful eyes. 



Herman sent me these flowers. 

Fairer ones never grew. 
They were fresh as the breath of the morning 

New-baptized with dew. 
Now they are wan and faded. 

And my eyes are dim with tears ; 
For these flowers seem like emblems 

Of all our hopes and fears. 



54 



UNNAMED. 

And most of all like symbols 

Of the tender dream of love,. 
So sweet to the soul of the dreamer 

Yet frail as a flower to prove. 

Dead, all dead. 
This lily was white as the drifting snow, 
This rose once flushed with a passionate glow 
When it blossomed in fragrant summer air. 
But it faded and died of a slow despair. 
This mignonette had the soul of a saint, 
Around it still lingers a fragrance faint, 
Long as it lived it blessed the earth. 
But a spirit has whispered its spirit forth. 
This jessamine see ! In the passionate south 
The Spirit of Love kissed it mouth to mouth. 
Remembering ever that rapturous kiss. 
The breath of its life was a dream of bliss ; 
And the soul of its soul was lavishly spent 
In passionate love's abandonment. 
Nor beauty, nor faith, nor purity, 
Nor the might of love's divinity, 



UNNAMED. 



55 



Could save them from the destroyer's tread. 
The tale of their life is a tale that is said, 

Dead, all dead. 

Four blank walls that stare at me 
Bound my narrow house of life. 
There no sweet wild flowers come, 
Chirp of bird, or wild bee's hum, 
Dream of sweetheart or of wife, 
Love's caress, or friendship's tone ; 
Fate has built my house alone. 

When the moon beams down the night 

To enfold me in her light, 

When the stars shine, and winds blow, 

More and more this truth I know, — 

Whatsoever I may be. 

Wheresoever I may go, 

All the years that come to me 

As they found, will leave me so, 

By these four blank walls shut in, 

Growing sad as days go on. 

And forever left alone. 



56 



UNNAMED. 

By the friends who once were mine 
In the far-off days, lang syne, 
Half-remembered, half-forgot ; 
And my books, my only joys, 
Speak to me, yet love me not. 
And the world sings to its own 
While its bonny days go on. 
Only I am all alone. 

And these blank walls stare at me 
Till I sicken, heart and brain. 
And they throb before my eyes 
Like an ever-present pain. 
And they never widen grand 
As I dreamed in days by gone, 
Down long vistas stretching far 
All alight with glory's star. 
Evermore I am alone. 



Out of the past a sweet strong wind 
Is blowing, and blowing on, 



UNNAMED. 27 



And my heart is wildly yearning 

For the joys of a day that is gone. 
It blows from a land of fragrance, 

It has kissed the roses abloom, 
But it dashes my cheeks with a rain of tears. 

And wraps my spirit in gloom. 
For the fragrant land is haunted, 

Haunted its blooming bowers. 
Haunted the strong, and sweet, sweet wind, 

Haunted the swaying flowers. 



Faint to the ear of my spirit. 

Fainter than long ago, 
Faint, and far, but divinely sweet, 

The mystical voices flow. 
Oh but to catch for a moment ! — 

Oh but to sing them again ! — 
The songs of the far, sweet voices 

That are deeper than love or pain. 
How fair a thing is the summer ! 

How fair a thing is the world ! 



58 UNNAMED. 

Lit by a thousand glimmering stars, 
By silvery dews impearled. 



Last night when the winds were sighing 

Love tales in the linden tree, 
I heard a voice from the garden 

And my heart stood still in me. 
Why did he call me Alice ? 

What right had he to my name ? 
He came and called me Alice. 

And my cheeks burnt hot with flame. 
And I fear, I fear he noticed 

The sudden burning blush ; 
And I fear he thought 'twas returning love 

That made my pale face flush. 
But I did not call him Louis, 

As I had done before. 
For once I called him Louis, 

My Louis, Louis D'Or. 
And shall I write to Herman 

That Louis has called on me ? 



UNNAMED. 59 

Herman would think from my telling 

That a dozen things might be. 
He would think I cared for Louis, 

And cared to have him call. 
While the fact is known to my heart and me 

That we do not care at all. 
Never again, O Louis, 

Never, never again, 
Can the touch of your hand awake in me 

The echoing chords of pain. 
It is dead at last now, Louis, 

And I knew not it was dead 
Till you came and called me Alice 

As you did in days tha^are fled. 
But I did not call him Louis, 

As I had done before. 
For once I called him Louis, 

My Louis, Louis D'Or. 



It is enough for me to do my work. 
And trust God for the rest. 



6o UNNAMED. 

If I indeed have drunk the poet's wine, 

My work for me is best. 
O woman heart ! O longing woman heart ! 

How weak a thing you prove, 
Hungering, thirsting, growing sick and faint, 

Sick for a little love. 
Are there not infinite stores, divinely sweet, 

Of heavenly love for thee ? 
And hast thou not thy work, thy work on 
earth. 

Thy work, enough for thee? 
They were not meant to bless thee, O sad 
heart. 

The clasp of clinging hands, 
The thousand sacred mysteries of sweet love. 

The lore love understands. 
They were not meant for thee. Be thou 
content ; 

Content with what is left, — 
The pure, good work, which, if thou bravely 
do, 

Thou shalt not be bereft. 



UNNAMED. 6 1 

Wherever I go, I see a face 

That I knew so well lang syne. 
Wherever I go, those beautiful eyes 

Follow and seek for mine. 
Did you really love me, Louis, 

So long and long ago ? 
Wide is the gulf between our souls. 

Why do you seek me so ? 



Why has not Herman written 

While all these days went on ? 
Why is my book unfinished 

That long since should be done ? 
I wonder at Herman's silence. 

Till my heart is sick with dread. 
In his letter that came so long ago 

He was coming here he said. 
But if he came to the city. 

Would Herman not come to me? 
And if he were not in the city, 

Would Herman not write to me ? 



62 UNNAMED. 

It is thousands of years ago since I sang 

In my careless joy to love's sweet tune. 
My heart was as light as a dancing leaf, 

And the air about me was sweet with June. 
It was ages ago when my heart was young, 
Sweet was the meaning life held for me. 
The stream of my blood had a jubilant flow, 
' And I dreamed of delights that were yet to 
be. 
Every flower of the world was yet in the bud, 
Every bud of the world would soon be a 
rose. 
The dew was not dried on the beautiful wold 
Ere the hours of dawning drew on to a 
close. 
I sat in the sunshine. I dreamily sang. 

The hours slipped by with a musical chime. 
Ages, and ages, and ages ago 

In the flowery fields of the olden time. 

There was a time, O Louis, 
I had given my life to you. 



UNNAMED. 6. 



But the time is come, O Louis, 

When that I will not do. 
And can you not see as I see it 

That the past is over and gone ? 
That it cannot awake into being 

While the days of our lives go on ? 
Believe that I care no longer. 

Believe that I love you not. 
Do you think those eyes too potent 

For their spell to be forgot ? 

It is true. 
Hearts can change as seasons do. 
Love, like sweetest flowers that bloom, 
Finds at last a certain tomb. 

For I know 
Long-lost love of long ago, 
All the passion and the tears 
Of those far and faded years 
Are as they had never been \ 
And there lies our hearts between 
But a shade of cold distrust 
Where warm love lies low in dust. 



64 UNNAMED. 

Woe is me ! 
That this bitter thing should be 
That the Lethean river rolls 
While we live above our souls, 
That oblivion's waters steal 
All the grief our hearts can feel, 
And the deepest wounds must heal. 

Fare thee well. 
Nevermore awakes the spell 
Of the sweet forgotten past. 
All is over, dead at last. 

Fare thee well. 

Lightly the years go by me. 

I cannot die of regret. 
The past slips out of my keeping. 

I cannot choose but forget. 
The withered leaves lie not more dead 
Beneath the icy north-wind's tread 
Than lies the heart you once could move, 
Unanswering, to your words of love. 
The spell is broken, and I am free. 
Henceforth your love is naught to me. 



UNNAMED. 

I fain would do my duty 

Forgetting selfish ease, 
But should I give my life up 

A fickle love to please ? 

Have I the power of doing 

All for you that you say ? 
Would my love make strong and noble 

The life so weak to-day ? 

For Louis says, but for losing 

My love so long ago, 
His life had been brave and helpful, 

Nor missed its purpose so. 

He says though the years are flying 
Time holds one chance for him. 

Can I, whom he loves so dearly, 
His life's sole brightness dim? 

I am tired of doubt and query, 
Tired spirit and brain. 



65 



66 UNNAMED. 

I cannot believe I should sell my soul 
Though it be for another's gain. 



Why has not Herman written ? 

Over and over again, 
I ask myself that question 

With a dull and heavy pain. 
There are rumors of plague in the city 

And the people are fleeing away, 
Louis is going to-morrow. 

But I think that I shall stay. 
I wonder at Herman's silence 

Till my heart is sick with dread. 
For those who dwell in silence. 

Are they not the hosts of the dead ? 
It seems but a wretched pittance 

To offer, this life of mine, 
For I give what I would be rid of — 

A gift they cannot decline. 

Lo ! Poor and sick of the city, 
I offer to you to-day 



UNNAMED. 

A life of worth to no one, 

That I fain would give away. 
I have lived to myself these long years, 

Now I will live to you. 
For the short few weeks remaining 

Some good, at last, I may do. 
Louis is going to-morrow. 

He would tease me with useless prayers 
To flee from the coming terrors. 

I must let him go unawares. 
And if I die in the city, 

O Herman, Herman, my friend, — 
If I die in the plague-cursed city. 

Will you ever hear of the end ? 

Louis has fled from the fever. 

And left a letter for me 
Pleading for sake of his future 

I, too, from the plague would flee. 
You care so much for your future. 

Have you never a thought of mine ? 
I think, of old, I was drunken 

With love's bewildering wine. 



67 



68 UNNAMED. 

Blue are the heavens above me, 

The whispering winds are bland. — 
Lie there on my table, O letter ! 

For I cannot understand. 
" Why have you so deceived me 

About your future life ? 
And why not told me sooner 

You were to he his wife ? 
I cannot believe you did it 

My faithfulness to moch ; 
You thought 1 loved so dearly 

I could not bear the shock. 
But there, m,y child, you wronged me. 

If you are happier so, 
I can bear to see you another's wife, 

Though 't is terribly bitter to ; 
But 1 cannot bear the knowledge 

That you have doubted me. 
Well ! Well ! Let it pass ! There 's no reason 

That I should indignant be. 
You never wanted m,y love, child, 

I knew it as well as you. 



UNNAMED. 69 

You xoill never hnoio what it cost me, 

But I loved 1/ou, loved you true 
When I went last week to the city, 

A man whom 1 knew of old, 
The man you are soon to marry, 

Your new betrothal told. 
I did not come to see you, 

I could not bear the pain. 
With the deep, deep hurt so fresh in my heart. 

Of seeing your face again. 
If you had not deceived me. 

It were easier to hear ; 
But perhaps you did it to save me a pang. 

Knowing how 1 must care. 
I hope you may be happy. 

It is late for me to speak. — 
But how can I trust your future 

To one so cruel and weak ? 
Is it foolish, weak, unmanly ? 

I am blotting my page with tears. 
I have loved you, darling, with all my heart 

These many weary years. 



JO 



UNNAMED. 

Alice ! my poet woman, 
Alice my woman saint ! 

How can 1 hear to lose you now 
Nor die as my hopes grow faint ? 

1 shall not see you again, child, 

I have grown so sham,efully weak 
I fear I cannot hear yet 

To hear your sioeet lips speak. 
Some time, perhaps, in the future, 

If fate is kind to me, 
I shall grow used to my hurden 

And this loill cease to he. 
Perhaps you had pitied me, Alice, 

Had you knoion hoio all must end. 
Always through all time, darling. 

Believe me, your truest friend." 

I cannot understand it ! 

O Herman, inio beti ! 
Have you loved me on in silence 

Through all these summers then ? 
How could you so much wrong me 

That specious lie to believe ? 



UNNAMED. 

How could you so much wrong me 
To doubt I would deceive ? 



If Herman truly loves me 

Life grows more sweet to me, 
Yet I may die in the city 

Before his face I see. 
And I fain would see him once more 

Before my life is past 
To tell him I was faithful, 

1 loved him at the last. 
Yet even for love of Herman, 

Though he loved me in tender truth, 
Could I forego the visions 

That glorified my youth ? 
Forget the dreams, and longings, 

The glory, and the bliss ? 
Forego them all for the rapture 

Of love's betrothal kiss ? 
Oh ! not for me was love made. 

It never was made for me. 



71 



72 



UNNAMED. 

I have grown used to the knowledge 

That this can never be. 
I have given my strength of spirit, 

My strength of body and brain, 
All to my Art's sweet service ; 

What gifts for Love remain ? 
For Art will have all or nothing. 

All that is mine or me, 
And love demands that his portion 

Soul, body, and spirit be. 
Only one life is given, 

Only one life to live. 
Could I sunder spirit from spirit 

And to each a portion give ? 



How poor and helpless is our human love 
How weak our human strength. 

I cannot even reach my friend and say, 
"I love, thee, dear, at length." 

I cannot even say, "Though great my fault. 
Of this thing I am free, 



UNNAMED. 7 



In all the days when I was most beguiled 

I never doubted thee." 
But, wrapped within the dreadful arms of 
Death, 

Into the shadows dim 
I must go down, and never see his face. 

And never speak to him. 
For I will give my life though it be i)oor, 

My strength though it be weak. 
Perchance to die for men were poetry 

More sweet than I can speak. 
I would that I had done some good on earth 

Before the bitter end. 
I would my lips had drunk one soul-deep 
draught 

Of love's delight, my friend. 
Alas ! my life has failed of all its ends, 

Well may my soul make moan. 
Into oblivion's unending night 

I must go down alone. 
The one dream of my life was but a dream, 

A flower without its fruit. 



74 



UNNAMED. 

The songs that sang so sweetly in my soul 

Upon my lips were mute. 
The one, true friend who gave me all he had, 

What have I given him ? 
A heart stab, and a blight that made the light 

Of his best days grow dim. 
My life has missed its purpose. Evermore 

A voice is at my side, — 
A voice that croaks to me of wasted life, 

And will not be denied. 
Sick unto death am I, yet would not die ; 

Sick of my life, yet fain more days would 
live ; 
If so, perchance, I might e'en yet, tho' late. 

The wasted past retrieve. 

The pestilence walketh in darkness, 

Destruction at noon is abroad. 
We bow down our heads in our weakness. 

And call on the name of our God. 
Oh God in humanity clothed, 

Have mercy on man Thou hast made ; 



UNNAMED. 75 

Grant, ere there is none to beseech Thee, 
The terrible plague may be stayed. 

Oh sweet ! oh sweet ! the idle joys of living, — 

The summer sky's intense, delicious blue. 
The winds a-whisper, and the flowers a-blos- 
som. 
The fresh earth dashed with white baptismal 
dew. 
The far-off joys of life for aye renounced. 
Warm life, filled up with color, light and 
bloom. 
I shiver from the cold unknown hereafter. 
The mist and darkness, the engrossing 
gloom. 
Dead silence broods above the fated city. 
An atmosphere that chills the soul with 
dread, 
A horror curdling through the very life- 
blood. — 
It seems some haunted city of the dead. 
Changed is the air, the very sky is changed. 
Dead horror, still, impalpable, intense. 



76 UNNAMED. 

How vain seem now our loves and hates, how 
trifling, 

The idle things of life, the joys of sense. 
O mystic land before me stretching endless, 

'Twixt me and thee a veil of mist outrolls. 
With longing eyes I search the gloom demand- 
ing 

Thy secret, O thou unknown land of souls. 
Trembling I stand before the mystic portals. 

Beyond is darkness, cold, and hushed, and 
dread. 
Gray, flitting ghosts, vast mist-engendered 
phantoms. 

The shadowy armies of the shadowy dead. 
O Infinite Supreme, Source of our being, 

Giver of life. Endless of life, Eterne, 
Grant now to me one holy revelation 

For which in darkness and despair I yearn. 
Reveal Thyself to me, O God the Father, 

The Father of our spirits, God alone. 
Reveal Thyself to me, O God the Spirit. 

Reveal Thyself to me, O God the Son. 



UNNAMED. 



11 



Brought face to face thus with the dread 
Hereafter, 
Life's fictions torn away, the soul stands 
bare ; 
But for our faith in thee we die, we perish 

Crushed by the weight of a divine despair. 
God give us grace to do our simple duty ; 
Be brave, be strong, content to work and 
wait, 
Ready to do His will until He sendeth 
His angel to throw wide the unseen gate. 

Yesterday in the fever ward 

The doctor told a tale 
Of a man who bravely entered the homes 

That made the strongest quail. 
He seemed to feel no burden, 

Fatigue he did not know. 
Where danger was the greatest. 

He was always first to go. 
But lately he had missed him, 

And dared not hope that he 



78 UNNAMED. 

Had failed to fall a victim 

To his humanity. 
He was so worn in the service 

His frame could not resist 
The fever as it should do, 

He would be greatly missed. 
"What is his name" I queried, 

Grown curious to hear. 
"His name," the doctor answered 

"Was Herman Delaterre." 



And art thou dead ? 
Entered through starry gates into thy heaven? 
While evermore my spirit unforgiven 
Dwells in the awful Valley of the Shade, 

Yet cannot die. 
Perchance, if thou art dead, 
Thy soul can hear me when to thee I cry, 
"True to thy love forevermore am I." 
I love thee, O my love, and art thou dead ? 



UNNAMED. 



79 



Not dead perchance 
But fighting in these noisome haunts of pain 
The fiend of fever that with burning chain 
Has bound thee. Never loving glance 
Benignant meets thy own ; 
No loving hands assuage the fever pain. 
My friend ! My Herman ! Dying, dead, 

perchance, 
Dying — my love — alone. 

If thou art gone, and life for me is done. 
And I should meet thee far beyond the sun 
Where flit gray ghosts of warm humanity, 
Phantoms of things that were, and things 

to be, 
Should I be aught to thee ? or thou to me ? 

It cannot be when life for me is o'er 
That I shall see my love no more, no more, 
Somewhere, somewhere, upon a golden shore, 
I yet shall feel his arms about me fold. 
God plans a meeting for us far away. 
In other climes, upon another day. 



8o UNNAMED. 

When I, too, pass beyond the shadows gray 

And see my sad life as tale that's told. 
There is no grief — One wipes away all tears. 
There is no death through endless blessed 

years ; 
There is no night, and there shall come no 

fears. 

There lives immortal love, and grows 
not old. 

Last evening I went sorrowing 

Soul wrapped in one idea, 
To pray for the soul of Herman my friend. 

In the church of St. Sofia. 
The church was dark and lonely, 

But, in a column's shade, 
A single lonely worshiper 

Like myself, in silence prayed. 
I gazed o'er the stately altar 

At a figure of the Christ, 
The Lamb of the Atonement 

For sinners sacrificed. 



UNNAMED. 

I gazed at the stately altar, 

But soul and lip were dumb. 
I had come to pray for Herman, 

But the prayer thought did not come. 
I could not shape a prayer. 

I knew that all was vain. 
Silent I sat, unmoving. 

Mute in a trance of pain. 
I saw through the realms of phantom 

That dreamlike stretched away, 
My lonely Life Henceforward 

Stand desolate and gray. 
With even Death like a lover 

Proven false in the hour of need 
My dreary Life Henceforward 

Stand desolate indeed, — 
A wounded thing, creep slowly 

Through lengths of weary years 
With nothing brighter than heart ache. 

Nothing sweeter than tears. 
Forevermore unloving. 

Forever unbeloved. 



82 UNNAMED. 

Down wearisome gray vistas 

My Life Henceforward moved. — 
Suddenly just beside me 

I heard a gentle stir, 
And glancing up I saw there 

The lonely worshiper. 
His face was toward the window, — 

How can I tell the rest ? 
For before I thought 'twas Herman 

I was sobbing on his breast. 
A peace came out of heaven 

And wrapped the world from sin. 
Opened the gates of heaven, 

And our spirits entered in. 

When the dusk was softly falling, 

And down the lonely street 
The light winds kissed the dead leaves. 

And the dead leaves kissed my feet ; 
Out of the dark cathedral, 

Into the silent night, 
We went away together 

As the moon swam into sight. 



UNNAMED. 83 

Far down the fading twilight 

Glimmered a trembling star, 
And I knew 'twas the tender star of love 

That shone for us afar. 
Under the saintly moonlight, 

Under the smile of heaven. 
The weary world after penance sore 

Lay peaceful and forgiven. 

When the day awakes with a rosy flush 
And skies grow bright above me, 

When the sweet winds sigh from the blossom- 
ing south 
Then most, my love, I love thee. 

When the sun sinks away to his palace of rest 

And skies grow dim above me. 
When the sweet winds sleep in the arms of 
the south 

Then most, my love, I love thee. 



84 UNNAMED. 

Once to my eyes my Love and Art seemed 
hostile. 
I stood between and doubted which to 
choose 
Lest, though I found a joy beyond my hop- 
ing, 
The sweeter blessing I might chance to 
lose. 

But something now has taught me clearer 
vision. 
I walked in darkness long, but found the 
light. 
No longer foes, but reconciled in spirit, 
The twain seem now as one before my 
sight. 

For Love and Art are but the humble service 
I offer unto Him who gave them both ; 

Who crowned my spirit with a threefold 
blessing. 
And laid upon my soul a marriage oath. 



LONGER POEMS. 




WATER LILIES. 

HEN Spring comes slow, 
Reluctantly from the voluptuous south, 
The kiss of southern lovers on her mouth, 
The smell of southern flowers in her hair ; 
And Cometh loath because her heart is there. 
And turneth oft and weepeth tears of pain 

And to be gone is fain. 
When all the days grow dim 
And filled with gloom, 
Then nature breaks into her advent hymn, 
Then water lilies bloom. 



The days wane on. 
The Spring grows kind again. 
Ceaseth the frequent rain, 
Ceaseth the chill and gloom, 
Over the land stealeth a faint perfume. 

The water lilies bloom. 



8 WATER LILIES. 

The days wane on. 
Over the northern hills th' inconstant Spring has 
gone. 
Up from the sweet south comes a fairer guest, 
The loved, the best, 
The Summer with rich gifts of largesse come 
From her far southern home. 

She comes, and lo ! 
Before her flowers blow. 
The vales are fragrant with all rare perfume. 
The water lilies bloom. 

They bloom, and lo ! 

From chaliced cups of snow 
Their incense fling upon the grateful air. 

The white leaves open, slow 

And timidly, revealing 
In chaliced cups of virgin snow 

The golden, tremulous, quivering heart ; 

Whence rarest odors stealing 
When the white petals dream apart. 

Tenderly, timidly, stealing forth. 



WATER LILIES. 89 

Like prayers of saints are heavenward borne 
Yet sweeten earth. 

They lie at rest 

On the dark water's breast 
Like a white star upon the veil of night. 

Soft color tints their leaves 

With faint auroral light, 
The glow of sunset in the flushing west. 

What spot on earth 
Is found of so much worth 

To bear this loveliness ? 

Where rivers to the sea 
Flow onward gladsomely 
There surely is their fitting place of birth. 

Upon some flashing river 

That floweth on forever 
'Twixt banks of blossoms to the solemn sea, — 

Where giant forests spread 

Wide-reaching arms o'erhead 
And make for it a path of fragrant gloom, 



90 



WATER LILIES. 

There is the place on earth 
Fittest to give them birth, 
There should the lilies bloom. 



And bloom they there, 
Rejoicing in the beauty and the light 
Spreading their petals white 
Upon the limpid stream, 
Upon the happy water flowing onward in a dream 
Of light, and sound, and motion, to the solemn- 
sounding sea? 
The banks are bright with blossoms, but for them 

there still is room. 
The air is filled with music and with delicate per- 
fume. 

There do the lilies bloom ? 

Not there. Not there. 
Not on the flashing river 
That floweth on forever 
Not where the forests bending make fragrant dells 
of gloom. 



WATER LILIES. 91 

Not where the streams are flowing 
With light, and sound, and motion 
To join the throbbing ocean 
Do the water lilies bloom. 

Where shall we seek them ? 

For their home is low. 
In dark, dull pools the lilies grow. 

From murky depths of night 

Stoled all in spotless white, 

From murky depths of gloom 
Tinted with faint auroral light 

The water lilies bloom. 

The days wane on. 
The first spring flowers have faded long ago. 
Faded the hyacinthine glow. 
Faded the purple of the violet. 
The Spring has gone with all her wealth of bloom. 
No loiterer lingers yet 
On vale or hill, 

Yet still 
The water lilies bloom. 



92 



WATER LILIES. 



The days wane on. 
The Summer days are long and still, 

By vale and hill, 
The Summer flowers begin to fade. 
In all bright places where are warmth and light 

The -flowers fade from sight. 
Yet still in their low homes of murky gloom 
The water lilies bloom. 

So have ye seen, 
When all life's fields were green, 

From lonely and neglected spots 
Grow sudden flowers of love and faith, 
Bloom wild forget-me-nots, 
And heart 's-ease, and each flower that hath 

Some fragrant mission to the soul. 
So ye have seen, if ye have seen the whole, 
The flowers of love and faith 

Live through the spring's warm 

days, 
Bask in the summer's blaze. 
And sweeten all the dreary road to death. 



WATER LILIES. 93 

So have ye known 
Light out of darkness, joy from sorrow grown, 

Life's waves of bitterness 
Yield snowy flowers to cheer and bless. 
From depths of deepest gloom 
White lilies bloom. 

It seems the earth has not 
One barren spot 
That Spring cannot awaken and gladden into 
bloom, 
It seems to darkest things 
Summer her largesse brings, 
With white hands overflowing with sunlight and 
with bloom. 

There is no place so sad 

But Spring can make it glad. 

No spot so full of gloom 
But when the word is spoken 
Its long night shall be broken. 

Its spotless lilies bloom. 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 

IN the days when wise King Arthur 
Ruled over his Table Round, 
„,^ The gallant knights went on a quest 
T Seeking east, seeking west, 
For the Holy Grail that had vanished away 
Many and many a year before, — 
That had vanished away, and been seen no more, 
Though holy men had fasted and prayed, 
With tears, and sighs, and penance sore. 
For the Holy Grail to come once more. 

Sometimes before the longing eyes 

Of holy monk, or praying nun, 
A light like that of noonday sun 

Sudden flashed, and sudden died. 

In shining clouds of dazzling white, 

The Holy Grail upon their sight 
Flashed a moment and was gone. 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 

And none could tell the way it went 

So soon the sudden light was spent ; 
And never knight, 
Or anchorite, 
Or holy monk, or virgin pale, 
Had sought and found the Holy Grail. 

One day King Arthur's gallant knights, 
Clad all in panoply of mail, 
Went riding forth upon their quest. 
Seeking east, seeking west, 
To find the Holy Grail. 

They vowed to heaven a solemn vow 
To right the wrongs of the opprest, 
To keep their honor white and pure, 

And leave unto high heaven the rest. 

Then bound upon each knightly breast 

The badge, where all the world might see. 
Of Honor, Truth, and Courtesy, 

And fearless rode forth to their quest. 
Seeking east, seeking west. 
Seeking south, seeking north. 



95 



96 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 



All bound upon the selfsame quest 
The gallant knights rode forth. 

And one found in a mossy glade 

A bower of bloom, a smiling maid, 

A fount that in the sunlight played, 

A cool stream rippling through the shade. 

Sore with the heat of toil opprest 

He turned aside to rest. 
Beside the murmuring stream he stayed. 

Forgot his holy quest. 
And a mystic song through the forest rang, 
And a mystic voice low sang, — 

'Weali hope, weak faith must fail, must fail. 

He who seeks the Holy Grail 

Will seek in vain if he turns to rest. 

Endeth here the warrior's quest, 

And one tale is done. 

And one rode over hill and vale 
And came to a palace great and strong. 
Around him the vassals began to throng 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Saying, "Thou who wearest King Arthur's mail 
Right for us now the wrong we bear, 
Free from the foe these stately towers, 

And thou shalt be lord of us and ours." 

The good knight turned from his holy quest 
To right the wrongs of the opprest. 

They made him lord, and bowed the knee. 

He stayed to reign where he went to free. 

In the fruitful lands of the blooming west 
He laid aside his burnished mail, 
He sought no more for the Holy Grail, 
Forgot his holy quest. 

And a mystic song through the palace rang, 

And a mystic voice low sang, — 

The weak of purfosp nxu&t Jail, must fail, 
He cannot find the Holy Grail, 
Though long he seek, he loill seek in vain, 
For the lust of power and love of gain 
Will prove too strong for such an one. 
And another tale is done. 

And one rode over field and moor 

Till a wide plain opened before his sight. 



97 



98 THE HOL V GRAIL. 

Whereon in clouds of dazzling light, 
The Holy Grail shone white and pure. 

But straight before, and on either hand, 
Came the spirits of evil, band on band ; 
Back to the sunshine flashed in light 
Their burnished helms and weapons bright, 

Behind them, pure and grand. 
The Holy Grail shone white. 
He had not shuddered at mortal foes. 
He had not trembled at giant's might. 
But he turned away from the spirit fight. 

And straight before him the vision rose. 

And the Holy Grail into heaven was caught. 
Then his bosom was filled with a wild despair. 

The wild despair of a soul unblest. 
He threw aside his burnished mail, 

He sought no more for the Holy Grail, 
Forgot his sacred quest. 
And a mystic song o'er the wide plain rang, 
And a mystic voice low sang, — 

The faint of heart must fail, must fail, 

He cannot find the Holy Grail. 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 99 

Only <jer foemen overthroton, 
Only throuijh ilantjers and struggles past, 
Can the Holy Grail he found at last. 
And another tale is done. 

And one, as he rode from land to land, 
Caught the treacherous gleam of shining sand, 
Caught the treacherous gleam, and thither rode. 
While fair on the soft wind his white plume flowed. 
And fair in the sunlight his armor glowed. 

But lo ! On that sand he sank, he sank, 
Never he reached the farther bank, 

Down and down till the world 'gan swim, 

Down and down till the light grew dim, 

Down and down till over his head 
The shining terrible quicksand spread. 
And the sunlight faded and died for him. 

Down, far down from warmth and bloom, 

Down, far down into changeless gloom, 
The horrible darkness and damp of the tomb. 

Down, far down from sun and air, 
And the angels in heaven know not where. 



lOO THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Oh ! pray that the demons far below 
That fatal whither may never know. 

Seeking east, seeking west, 

Seeking south, seeking north, 
All bound upon the selfsame quest 
The gallant knights rode forth. 

But only Sir Galahad the pure, 

Only Sir Galahad the true, 
Turned not aside from his holy quest. 

Seeking east, seeking west, 
He stayed not for pleasure, he shrank not from pain. 
He sought over forest, and meadow, and plain 
For the glint of the Holy Grail. 
But wherever a deed of good could be done, 
Or help could be given to an outcast one. 
Or succor to him who was sore opprest, 

Then ne'er did his kindly spirit fail. 
Then was his knightly lance in rest ; 

So forth he rode on his sacred quest 
Seeking the Holy Grail. 



THE HOL Y GRAIL. i o i 

And lo ! as he rode from land to land 
The winds of heaven his forehead fanned, 
Out of the darkness a soft light shone, 
Whispering winds were around him blown ; 

He saw before him a beckoning hand. 
After brave deed of kindness done 
He came to the land of the setting sun, 

Through the golden gates of that shining land, 

A vision dawned upon his sight. 
There, in a glory pure and grand, 

The Holy Grail shone white. 
In the fruitful land of the blooming west, 

He threw aside his burnished mail, 

He rode no more on his sacred quest, 
He found the Holy Grail. 
And a mystic song through the portals rang. 
And a mystic voice low sang, — 

Tlic 'pure of spirit, of jiurpose strong, 

The knightly soul that shrinks from wrong. 

The kindly-hearted shall never fail, 

To him is given the Holy Grail. 



I02 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

The world shall rejoice in iohat is done, 
And gladder be for the prize that's loon. 
For he that seekefh seeks not alone 
To himself for the Holy Grail. 



Valedictory Poem, State Normal School, Trenton, 
New Jersey, June 27, 1878. 



CLASS SONG. lo-i 



CLASS SONG. 

VERY tiling is going, 

And whither does it go? 
Time and tide are flowing, 

And whither do they flow ? 
They call, the sweet world voices — 

They call us on and on, 
And every heart rejoices 

Although the past is gone. 
Yet 'tis gone, forever gone. 

And who shall do his duty ? 

And who shall turn away? 
Whose path shall He in beauty? 

And whose through shadows gray ? 
They call, the sweet world voices — 

They call us on and on, 
And every heart rejoices 

Although the past is gone. 
Yet 'tis gone, forever gone. 



SIR WULFERE'S QUEST. 

fHE day was fading, the day was low, 
The far sun shone with a crimson glow 
61® Lighting the depths of a forest old 

s With a streaming glory of red and gold. 
Under the glory and under the shade, 
In anguish of spirit Sir Wulfere prayed, 
"O Thou who diedst upon the tree, 
Come from Thy heavens and pity me." 

A whisper crept through the boughs of oak. 
A spirit voice to the kneeler spoke. 
But he knelt so low on the mossy ground 
His ears were dull to all finer sound. 
He knelt so low on the earth, I ween, 
He saw not the heavens' glorious sheen. 
Though far in the west above his head 
Wide banners of glory his Lord had spread, 



S/J? WULFERES QUEST. 105 

And from every tree in the haunted wood 
The birds were singing of Christ the Good. 
He knelt so low that he could not hear 
The whispered words that met his ear ; 
And he was not 'ware that all around 
The silences were alive with sound. 

He prayed until that hour when, above the moun- 
tains gray, 
The night sees visions in the east that tell her of the 

day; 
And all the night, above the trees, within the silent 

sky, 
The stars yearned down their gleaming rays to draw 

his soul on high. 
And on the shining pathway, against the murky 

night. 
The holy ones passed to and fro in robes of trailing 

light. 
But low he knelt, so low, so low, he saw no form of 

air; 
Nor even in the eastern sky, the morn break clear 

and fair. 



Io6 SIR WULFERES QUEST. 

Sir Will fere rose from his vigil sad 

And his heart was heavy and dead. 
''I have prayed all night to a pitiless sky 

That mocked my prayer," he said. 
"I will wander forth in pain and grief 

And bitterest penance do. 
Perchance when my soul is weaned from earth 

Heaven's glory will shine through." 
He doffed his coat of shining mail, 

And laid his lance aside ; 
And clad in sackcloth forth he fared 

To seek through the world so wide. 
For weary years and for weary years 

He wandered in sorrow and pain, 
Nor by night nor day in his castle hall 

Through the years was he seen again. 

One night at the postern a bugle blew 

And the warden woke in dread. 
"Sure that is my lord from spirit land 

Who summons our souls," he said. 
But he opened the gate that had long been closed, 

While his hand it trembled sore, 



S/J^ WULFERE'S QUEST. 107 

And Sir Wulfere rode in the flesh of life 

In at the open door. 
The friar arose from his chosen seat — 

And ever his beads he said — 
"Now I charge thee tell, by the holy rood, 

If thou art alive or dead. 
For thine eyes are wild as a spirit's eyes 

And thy face is white and wan. 
I charge thee tell, by the holy rood, 

If thou art spirit or man." 
Sir Wulfere made answer, "Night and day 

Have I wandered year by year. 
Mine eyes have beheld the Lord in flesh 

And therefore I am here." 
The friar crossed himself where he stood. 

And told his beads the while, 
"May God forgive the words thou hast spoke 

And keep our hearts from guile. 
Now tell me the tale of thy wanderings, 

And God keep us from sin, 
And if ever a fiend hath spoken to thee 

Mayst thou God's mercy win." 



I08 SIR WULFERES QUEST. 

"■ By night and by day, in sorrow and pain, 

I wandered for weary years ; 
Seeking for mercy from heaven above 

With prayer, and penance, and tears. 
But the heavens were deaf to my yearning cry, 

And closed to my blinded sight. 
No voice spake peace to my troubled soul. 

No morning brought me light. 
Thus year by year like a restless ghost 

Did I pass from land to land 
And none had mercy upon my soul. 

No succor seemed at hand. 

At last I came to a wondrous plain — 

God's spirit pardon me, — 
But I thought it the land of eternal death 

Where the evil spirits be. 
For dim and gray stretched the earth away 

And a gray sky stooped to meet. 
And ashes and dust was the crumbling earth 

Beneath my pilgrim feet. 
The light that lay on that dreary plain 

Was neither shadow or shine. 



S/J? WULFERE'S QUEST. 109 

But a light like that where hopeless souls 

In endless sorrow pine. 
There was never a sound but a piteous moan 

Like the voice of a wandering ghoul, 
And lo ! as I shrank from the dreary scene 

A sleep came down on my soul. 
What time went by 'neath that dark sky 

As I lay wrapped in a spell, 
Or what spirit broke my body's yoke, 

My lips can never tell. 
But when I awoke from that charmed sleep, 

Shuddering, and afraid 
Shorn of the flesh it erst had •worn, 

My shivering spirit strayed." 

Faster the friar told his beads. 

And crossed himself the while, — 
"May God assoilzie thy sinful soul 

And keep our hearts from guile." 

"Now the air about me was thick with forms 
Of many a fiend and ghoul. 



no S/J? WULFERES QUEST. 

And I was 'ware as I wandered there 

They strove to possess my soul. 
They were evil things on shadowy wings 

And the air was alive with sound ; 
And all the while with a ghastly smile 

My body lay on the ground. 
Then I was 'ware of a sudden light 

Shimmering, soft and fair; 
And in its gleam the evil things 

Seemed melting away to air. 
The light grew brighter, and demon form 

With form did intertwist. 
Fainter and fainter they grew and grew 

Till they vanished into mist. 
Brighter and brighter grew the light. 

And a musical sound upsprang, 
As though the harps of the heavenly host 

O'er a ransomed spirit rang. 
Louder the heavenly music grew, 

And the light was fairer than day. 
Then prostrate fell my trembling soul 

And never a word did say. 



S/J? WULFERE'S QUEST. i 1 1 

But I felt, as a sleeping child might feel 

Its mother bend above, 
That a holy presence was over me, 

And my soul was wrapped in love. 

Then the music ceased, and I heard a voice. 

But strange it seemed to me, — 
It sounded like to the whispering winds 

That kiss the greenwood tree. 
The voice said, 'I am Christ the Lord. 

Thy sins are washed away ; 
I gave my life on holy rood 

To succor souls that stray. 
Look up, look up, O shrinking soul ! 

To him who died on tree. 
Behold the glorious banners gleam 

Of the Lord who loveth thee.' 

Thereat, alert with joyous love, 

I raised mine eyes to see. 
And I beheld the heavenly One, — 

Yet strange it seemed to me ; 



1 1 2 SIR WULFERE'S QUEST. 

For as I looked it all had changed, 

Yet of change I was not 'ware, 
I only beheld the morning light 

Break in the sky most fair. 
Banners of gold and crimson light 

Streamed up before mine eyes. 
And a spirit voice swept past my ear 

Like a wind at some sunrise. 
And all my soul in flesh was clothed. 

And my spirit filled with light. 
Then straight I prayed and the Lord seemed near 

And heaven just out of sight." 

The holy friar drew in his breath. 

He had ceased his beads to say, 
He had almost neglected to cross himself, 

And half forgotten to pray. 
And he said, "'Tis a strange and wondrous thing 

Some dream has brought to thee. 
For would Christ speak thus to a sinful soul 

And not to a priest like me ? 



SIR WULFERKS QUEST. 113 

Sir Will fere al^iswered never a word 

But a soft light shone in his eyes. 
He wandered no more to seek his Lord 

'Neath cloudy or sunny skies. 
There was never a breeze through the greenwood 
sighed 

But called his spirit to prayer, 
There was never a morning broke in the skies 

But he saw a vision there. 
A spirit spoke in the morning breeze 

And smiled in the evening sky 
And the angels came down the ladder of light 

When the evening stars shone high. 



VOICES. 

^^f O him who in the olden time in flesh spake to 
*\^} his Lord 

?God came not clothed in terrors with his 
avenging sword, 
He came not in his anger, not in snow nor hail nor 

rain. 
He was not in the earthquake's shock, or flying 

hurricane. 
He spake not to his servant in the terror of his ire. 
He was not in the lightning's glare, or quivering 
tongues of fire. 



Over the soul of man on the desolate shore of life 
Sweepeth the tempest of passion leaving his spirit 
bare. 



VOICES. 



115 



Gone is the sunshine of hope, the beautiful light of 
life. 
Strong are the powers of darkness, the terrors of 
despair. 
Upon that shore of life, loud roar the billows of 
death. 
He hears their hoarse deep voices, he feels their 
tossing spray, 
The bright things he has treasured and has worn 
upon his bosom 
Upon the foaming billows are drifting far away. 
God is not in the tempest, and the tempest passes by. 
But the dark clouds of hopelessness still linger o'er 
his way. 
The bitter anguish passes, but as far as he can see 
Before him stretch the sands of life, a desert cold 
and gray. 



Silence brooded o'er the face of heaven. 

Then a Voice came solemnly and slow, 
"Downward tendeth man the unforgiven 

Through weary paths of woe. 



1 1 6 VOICES. 

Never changing sun or morn or clime 
Bringeth to his gloomy state relief. 

All his fleeting joys are naught but cloud joys 
And change to rains of grief." 

Sighed the winds, and sighed the restless waters, 
Moaned the universe ; then silence came 

As ruin cometh with the flying storm 
And blackness after flame. 

Then the Voice wailed out across the silence, 
As o'er the quivering bosom of the skies 

The red-winged lightning of the vengeful storm 
Goes forth for sacrifice. 

"Through the dreary ages of creation 
Man is naught and man will never be 

Till the years gaze from their fallen temples 
Upon Eternity. 

Never changing sun or moon or clime 
Bringeth to his gloomy state relief. 



VOICES. I I 7 

All his fleeting joys are naught but cloud joys 
And change to rains of grief." 



II 



The firm earth rocks like the wind tost main. 

The towers of our trust are falling. 
There is nowhere to rest, there is nothing to trust 

And fiery fiends are calling. 

Out of the depths of the reeling earth 

The fiendish voices are crying. 
There is nowhere to flee, there is nothing to trust 

The hope that we loved is dying. 

Helpless we stretch out our aimless hands 

For light in the darkness groping. 
There is nowhere to rest, there is nothing to trust 

We are sick of delusive hoping. 

Give us rest, but rest for a moment's space, 
Firm earth for our feet. We are falling. 

There is nowhere to flee, there is nothing to trust. 
And the fiendish voices are calling. 



1 1 8 VOICES. 

Darkness and gloom and horror, 
Shadowy, flitting forms 
Fiendish whispers, "No hope, no hope.' 
Is there One above all storms? 

Ill 

Fire, burning fire. 

No rest, no peace. 

Is there One who from torture 

Can give me release? 

Fire, burning fire. . 
Unblest, unblest ! 
Is there One who will take me 
Unto his rest ? 

Longing and dreading. 
Afraid to believe. 
Is tffere One far above me 
My soul to receive ? 



VOICES. 119 

IV 

A still small voice : God calling, 

"What dost thou here? 
Lo ! thou art the child of my tender love, 

Be of good cheer. 

Arise and come to my vineyard. 

Drink of the holy wine, 
Eat of the bread of eternal life. 

Lo ! thou art mine." 

Life's joys are but cloud joys. 

Soon they change into rain, 
But it gladdens the hillsides. 

Makes fruitful the plain. 
What flowers are springing 

Of patience and faith 
Whose perfume anointeth 

The soul unto death ! 




THE ROVER. 

*'HEN the western wind was dank with rain 

Over the sea the Rover came. 

Over the sea from a far countree, 

Where he had wandered for glory and gain. 
From scenes of blood and of death he came 
To clasp his own to his heart again. 

Oh his own was weary waiting ! 

Seven times had the leaves grown sere 
Faint with the breath of the dying year, 
Since over the sea from his own countree 
The Rover went seeking in danger drear 
Glory, and honor, and worldly gear 
To lay at the feet of his lady dear. 

Oh it was weary waiting ! 

He sailed and sailed when the sun was high, 
He sailed when the stars shone over the sky. 
Over the sea to his own countree. 



THE ROVER. 121 

Weak, and wounded, and ready to die. 

No hope in his heart, and no light in his eye. 

And on his lips the piteous cry, 

What comes of this weary waiting ? 

For in shine and in shower, by night and by day, 
Down the steep of the world he had sailed away. 
He had seen a sight that he dared not name. 
He had done a deed of darkness and shame. 
His hands were red and his heart was sore 
For the sin he had sinned, and for her who wore 
The pledge of his love on a lonely shore. 

And whose heart was weary waiting. 

As the Rover lay in a slumber deep 
Slowly the ship sailed to the strand,^ 
To the shore of the sea in his own countree. 
But a troubled vision sank into his sleep 
Or ever his ship had gained the land. 
Oh red was the stain upon his hand ! 

And sad was the weary waiting ! 



122 THE ROVER. 

The vision's face was veiled from sight, 
The vision's voice was cold and low, 
And the Rover could not guess aright 
Whether it came for weal or woe. 
Far off he heard the tempests blow 

On the desolate, wind-swept ocean. 

The vision's voice was hushed and low. 

It fell upon the Rover's ears 

Cold and soft like the fall of snow, 

Soft and still like the fall of tears 

Day and night through the lonely years 

When the heart is weary waiting. 

"Thou hast the glory thou went'st to seek, 
Thou hast the worldly gear and gain. 
But thy strong right hand is waxen weak 
And dyed red with a grievous stain. 
Not so shalt thou clasp to thy heart again 

Thine own, who is weary waiting. 

Spotless and white the hand must be 
That white and spotless hand to win. 



THE ROVER. 



123 



Wilt thou keep the wealth that has come to thee? 
Wilt thou keep the glory? and keep the sin? 
To all the world thou mayst entrance win 

Save only to her who is waiting." 

Wilt thou lose the wealth of earth and sea 
Which for earnest seeking thou wand'redst forth ? 
Wilt thou lose the glory that came to thee ? 
All thou hast sought for in dolor and dearth, 
The fame of the world and the wealth of the earth 
Wilt thou lose for one who is waiting?" 

"What boots the glory that I should choose, 
If I must wear it in loneness drear ? 
Free as I won them, freely I lose 
Glory, and honor, and worldly gear, 
All for the sake of my lady dear. 

Alas for the weary waiting !" 

"Thou hast given thy life's best days 
To win the wealth thou dost lightly lose. 
Think what awaits thee, men's fair praise, 



124 THE ROVER. 

Glory, and honor. Pause and choose." 
"Lo ! I have chosen. Them I lose, 

Lose for my love who is waiting." 

"Spotless and white the hand must be 
That white and spotless hand to claim. 
Thou hast given the good that came to thee, 
But thou must be washen white from stain, 
White from thy deed of darkness and shame 

Ere endeth the weary waiting. 

Billows of grief o'er thy heart must roll 
Ere the stain can be washed away. 
Waters of bitterness flow o'er thy soul 
Ere thou art worthy to clasp for aye 
Close to thy heart while the world shall stay 

Thine own who is weary waiting. 

Wilt thou bear the grief that will come to thee ? 
Wilt thou bear the sorrow ? and bear the pain ? 
The face of thy waiting love to see, 
To clasp thine own to thy heart again. 



THE ROVER. 125 

With hand and heart that are free from stain 

After the weary waiting." 

"Lo ! I have suffered pain and grief 
To win the wealth that has gone from me. 
Why to-day should I seek relief 
From pain instead of my love to see ? 
But brief, oh brief ! may the sorrow be ; 

For long is the weary waiting." 

The vision's face was veiled from sight, 
The vision's voice was hushed and low, 
And the Rover could not guess aright 
Whether it came for weal or woe. 
Nearer he heard the tempests blow 

On the desolate wind-swept ocean. 

Nearer he heard the tempests blow, 
Louder he heard the billows roll ; 
But the spell of his slumber held him low 
And the spell of his sleep was on his soul. 
The vision held him in strong control. 

Alas for her who is waiting ! 



126 THE ROVER. 

The lady lay in a fever-sleep 

Where troubled visions held their sway. 

And her maidens whispered, "Weep, oh weep! 

The lady dies ere the dawn of day, 

And the loved of her soul is far away. 

What comes of the weary waiting?" 

Why do the seething billows swell ? 
Why do the waters spread so wide ? 
Sure never before on the surf-beat shore 
Was seen such a high and wondrous tide. 
Lo ! who on the billow's crest doth ride 

After the weary waiting ? 

The waters came with a surging swell, 
The waters came with a sullen roar, 
Beating the strand like a funeral knell, 
And laid him low at the lady's door. 
All his journey ended and o'er; 

Ended the weary waiting. 

When the western wind was dank with rain 
The Rover went down to the sea again. 



THE ROVER. 



127 



On the shore of the sea in his own countree 
Whence he had wandered for glory and gain 
He clasped his own to his heart again. 
Ended and over the pitiful pain, 

Ended the weary waiting. 



IN THE SOUTH. 

iN many a sunny field where grasses waving 
Bend rippling to the summer breezes' swell, 
"ifo) In many a forest where the solemn voices 
* Of giant trees have caught a funeral knell, 

By many a mighty river flowing seaward 

Whose banks are darkened by the cypress shade 

Or brightened by the golden-flowering jasmine. 
The lowly graves of gallant hearts are made. 

There in the silence of the summer twilight 
Is heard the lone cry of the whip-poor-will. 

There weep the summer rains their tears of pity. 
There summer dews fall tenderly and still. 

There thousands sleep — the loved and the remem- 
bered. 

There thousands sleep — the brave and the forgot. 
Amid the unknown and unremembered sleepers 

There lieth one whose low grave is unsought. 



IN THE SOUTH. i 29 

No hand puts back the trailing wood-vine's tangle ; 

No lips bend reverent down to kiss the sod ; 
No woman's heart breaks o'er it in wild anguish; 

The sleeper sleeps in silence with his God. 

He had a hard fight, but the strife is over. 

He had a dark road, but the light has come. 
Long ago the weary heart ceased beating, 

Long ago the tired lips grew dumb. 

When the troops were quartered in the valley — 
Troops of a New England regiment — 

As a guard upon some old plantation. 
He with a command of men was sent. 

'Twas a fine old place upon the river, 
Dim with memories of a hundred years. 

Fragrant with the breath of climbing jasmine. 
Tall rose-trees, and trailing eglateres. 

Fragrant cedars closed around it, darkly, 
Tall magnolias reached up to the light. 



I30 IN THE SOUTH. 

'Twas a proud old place fit for the story 
Of some lady fair and gallant knight. 

And the romance castle had its lady, 

Fair as any of an eastern tale 
With dark tresses fragrant, musk-emperfumed, 

Falling from the dim mesh of her veil. 

Dreamy dim her dark eyes, vision-freighted. 
Dreamy with the langour of the east. 

She had wandered from an eastern story, 
Stol'n by genii from a fairy feast. 

So the young guard thought the day he saw her 

Stealing underneath the cedars tall. 
With her dark eyes full of wistful longing. 

Gazing southward o'er the garden wall. 

So he thought as day by day he watched her 
Down the dim walks of that garden old. 

Once he brought her a great bunch of jasmine. 
Hoped she'd take it — would not think him bold. 



IN THE SOUTH. 

And she took it. Rosy clouds of color 

Flushed her dark cheek, and the princess tall 

Deigned to speak to the blue-coated soldier, 
Stayed a moment by the garden wall. 

And the days went by, the tender, dreamy, 
Sweet days that the south alone can give. 

When to breathe is a delicious rapture. 
When 'tis bliss untold simply to live. 

Days went by, and the proud eastern princess. 
As if freed from the enchanter's spell, 

Lost her quiet for a changeful languor. 

Who the meaning of the change might tell ? 

Day by day his blue eyes gleamed and softened 
Drinking deep the radiance of her own. 

Day by day he smiled, content with hearing. 
Listening the low music of her tone. 

And the end came. You and I could guess it. 
They guessed not that any end should come. 



131 



132 IN THE SOUTH. 

They thought not of war and war's divisions, 

Dreamed not all the meaning of the wild war drum. 

She the daughter of a southern household 

He a soldier of the rank and file. 
With a blue coat for his badge of fealty. 

Dared to dream their dream of love the while. 

Summons came to him one summer morning, 
"March at once and join your regiment. 

The enemy are lurking all around us, 
Battle we suppose is imminent." 

There was nothing strange in the brief letter. 
Yet the young guard sat with bended head 

Silent long, and when at last he went out 
To the day, the day seemed dim and dead. 

All the light had faded from his future. 

When he went away he'd leave, beside 
The mere romance of the charmed castle. 

Light, and life, and love the tender-eyed. 



IN THE SOUTH. 133 

He gave orders to the men on duty. 

They received them with a glad huzza. 
It was dull work out here in the country. 

In such orders they'd not find a flaw. 

And he said good bye. The dark-eyed princess 
Had gone back beneath the wizard spell. 

She was proud, and still, and cold, and silent. 
What had caused the change? Ah ! who can tell? 

E'en her rosy lips had lost their blossom, 
The little hand she laid in his was cold. 

Wild, mad thoughts swam dizzily before him 
As he stood that white hand in his hold. 

Then he turned away ; but in a moment 

She was by him, and, before his eyes 
Held a miniature on ivory painted 

Of a fair boy face with dreamy eyes. 

"Take it," said she hoarsely, "'Tis my brother; 
If you meet to-morrow in the fight, 



134 



IN THE SOUTH. 



Spare him for my sake. Good bye forever." 
So she passed away from out his sight. 

But the next day when the fight was raging 

At its very height, his comrade saw 
A young colonel of the charging forces 

Close with him hand to hand and saw him draw 

Back his arm for the last fatal effort, 

When he glanced into the colonel's face, — 

Dropped his weapon, and the moment after 
Fell down lifeless in the crowded space. 

The colonel was a gallant looking fellow, 
A mere boy with dreamy southern eyes 

And fair face ; he got away unwounded, 
But the fallen soldier slept no more to rise. 

When they buried him they found some flowers. 
Faded things, so dead one could not tell 

What they were ; his comrade called them jasmine 
From a lingering hint of fragrant smell. 



IN THE SOUTH. 



135 



There was a little miniature beside them, 

They thought his sweetheart's, but to their surprise 

'Twas a fair boy face with dark locks curling 
Round the brows, and dreamy southern eyes. 



RETROSPECT. 

f J^MSklD the dusk of coming darkness, 
^||]|[^ 'Mid the twilight's deep'ning gloom, 
Breezes from the past are blowing. 
Laden with a faint perfume 
Of the flowers that flushed and faded 

Years and years ago for me, 
When the flush of morn was fairest 
And the bloom was on the tree. 

Mem'ry like a solemn river 

Ever flows before mine eyes, 
Mem'ry of a time long faded, 

Greener earth and bluer skies. 
And a fair face floats forever 

O'er the deep tide of my dreams 
As the snowy water lilies 

Float above their native streams. 



RETROSPECT. 137 

Once that face held all the brightness 

All the gladness of my life, 
Guiding star and flower of beauty 

Spirit face of my young wife. 
Flushed that face like clouds of morning 

On the day she was my bride, 
Paled that face like clouds of evening 

On the morrow when she died. 

In the morning flashed the billows 

When we put away to sea; 
On the morrow low and sullen 

Was the dirge they sang to me. 
Dark above the tossing water 

Stooped the Storm with low' ring frown, 
Hand in hand we dared its fury 

As the gallant ship went down. 

But the billows in their passion 
Caught the hand held in my own. 

Life ebbed from me into darkness 
Then came back to me, alone. 



138 RETROSPECT. 

Life came back without life's glory, 
Shorn of all its joy and light, 

Filled with voice of moaning waters, 
Darkened with a moonless night, 

Night whose dawn came never, never 

Through the weary waiting years, 
Night whose winds blew from the ocean, 

Night whose dews were dews of tears. 
But, as, in a lonely country 

Wrapped about in gloom of night. 
Some worn wanderer dreams of beauty 

Till his weary way grows bright ; 

So I dreamed of bye-gone beauties. 
Of the dear delights of yore. 

Till I fancied in my weakness 

They were round my way once more. 

As a trav'ler finds, far distant 
From his home, a river wide 

Flowing from the tiny streamlet 
When a child he played beside ; 



RETROSPECT. 

And, heart-filled with fragrant fancies 
Of that far-away, sweet time, 

Hears the music of its billows 
Sound an unforgotten chime ; 

So I stand beside the river 

Flowing from the past to me, 
And its music is the music 

Of a voice from out the sea. 
And a fair face floats forever 

O'er the deep tide of my dreams 
As the snowy water lilies 

Float above their native streams. 



139 



HEART'S DESIRE. 

)NE summer day I sailed away 

Across the bounding sea. 
' The sky was clear above my head, 

The waves were flashing free, 
And all the sky was full of light, 
And full of light the sea. 

I watched, within the old sea town. 
The light upon the spire, 

Until the belfry changed into 
A belfry built of fire ; 

For underneath the belfry tall 
She sat, my Heart's Desire. 

I sailed away, away, away. 
Across the bounding sea ; 

And soon above the waters blue 
They came to welcome me — 



HEARTS DESIRE. 

The maidens I had seen before — 
The maidens of the sea. 

Long days before, wlien from tlie shore 

I sailed away alone, 
A sea-king whispered, "Choose for thee 
One of these maidens fair to see ; 
And then come dwell beneath the sea, 
In a wonderful palace of glamourie 

Where the sea will ne'er make moan." 

And I laughed aloud, as I answer made 

To the sea-king's offer fair, 
"Nay: let thy maidens, undisturbed. 

Still comb their emerald hair ; 
For they are cold for me to love 

And I know of one more fair." 

So lightly and so carelessly 
I answered the sea-maids' sire. 

For four things go to the making 
Of my beautiful Heart's Desire. 



141 



142 HEAR T ' S DESIRE. 



And two are flowers and fragrance, 
And two are frost and fire. 

Oh ! the beautiful, beautiful sea-maids 
With their streaming emerald hair ! 

Oh ! the beautiful, beautiful sea-maids 
With their features cold and fair ! 

I leaned o'er the prow to watch them 
Before I was well aware. 

Their eyes were as dark as the deep sea waves 
And bright as the gems that shine. 

Their cheeks were as white as the drifting foam. 
Their lips were redder than wine. 

And the voice of their song was sweet and strong 
As the voice of the crested brine. 

But as I heard it, high and higher 

I heard the voice of my Heart's Desire, 

Singing beneath the belfry spire. 

Beautiful, beautiful maids of the sea ! 
Low and soft came their song to me. 



HEAR T ' 6- DESIRE. 1 4 



And in that song there was glamourie. 
They hilled me into a reverie 
Of pearl -fashioned palaces under the sea, 
Where all things splendid and sparkling be, 
And I sank into dreams as I rocked on the sea. 

For still as I watched them, low and lower. 
Until I could hear its cadence no more. 
Sounded the singing from off the shore. 
Where underneath the belfry spire. 
Which the setting sun had turned to fire. 
Was sitting and singing, my Heart's Desire. 
I slept and dreamed, and waking seemed 
And wandering under the sea. 

And the fairest maid of the sea-king's home 

Was ever leading me. 
There were horrible sights of dead men's bones. 
There were horrible sounds of dying groans. 
And the light of her beautiful features streamed 
On horrible monsters that coiled and gleamed 
With slimy brightness ; and writhed and coiled. 



144 



HEART'S DESIRE. 

While the slimy waters bubbled and boiled, 
And in the midst of the sights of the sea 
The beautiful maiden was lost to me. 

When I awoke from my dreams on the sea, 
The world looked faded and strange to me ; 
And I shivered with cold, as an old man might 
Who had been out on the waves all night. 
I shivered as though some maid of the sea 
With her icy breath were near to me. 

On a cold, cold day, I sailed away 

Back to my native town ; 
And smiled as I saw the waters blue 

Sweep over the sedges brown ; 
And sighed as I saw a funeral train 

From the heights come winding down. 

And shivered more with deadly cold. 

As I stepped upon the shore ; 
And the slow-moving funeral train 

Came near me more and more, 



HEARTS DESIRE. 14^ 

And I saw the face, in the fading light, 
Which the sunbeams quivered o'er. 

Under the gleaming belfry spire. 
Which the setting sun had turned to fire. 
Solemnly chanting, a funeral choir 
Bore to her grave my Heart's Desire. 
My hair was grey as I stood by the sea. 
My beard on the cold air floated free, 
And the whole wide world was dark to me 
As the setting sun sank into the sea. 



LONG AGO. 

HAVE grown old, and the cap that I wear 
Is scarcely more white than my faded hair, 
And the little pink bows I fasten there 
I am told have a very old-fashioned air. 

And sometimes I think I remind myself 

Of a dainty old gown that was laid on a shelf 

In my dear mother's house, old-fashioned and 

queer. 
With a faint sweet smell of dried lavender. 

Though all things are changed that belonged to me. 
And nothing is left as it used to be. 
This sweet fall weather brings past things again 
As flowers revive in a warm spring rain. 

It isn't often I think of such things, 

But the soul of the autumn within me sings 



LONG AGO. 



147 



And tells me strange things that are sweet to me 
Of the days and the hours that used to be. 

And so in the time of the fading year, 
When the first green leaves grow faded and sere 
And the clouds are so fleecy and light above, 
I think of the days when I was in love. 

Of course those days were long ago. 
The orchards were white with fragrant snow. 
The winds were whispering everywhere. 
And I never since saw the world so fair. 

It all began one sweet spring night. 

The stars were faint in the moon's soft light. 

And I went to a party across the way 

At Judge De Vere's with Percy Gray. 

I wore a skirt of white brocade 
Full and short that just displayed 
My white silk slippers, on which I chose 
To wear that night a faint blush rose. 



148 LONG AGO. 

My long white bodice with pointed waist 
With cords of silk was closely laced. 
It was trimmed with down and here and there 
With blush rosebuds ; and buds in my hair. 

That long-past night I remember yet. 
The opening dance was a minuet. 
And Percy and I danced side by side 
To the silvery sounds in the parlor wide. 

The night was a maze of flowers and bloom, 
Of music and light and rare perfume, 
Of tender words and of shining eyes — 
And then I was out 'neath the moonlit skies. 

Out 'neath the skies with Percy Gray, 
And why I had come I never could say ; 
Walking along 'neath the swaying trees 
Whose boughs were kissed by the evening breeze. 

The fragrant winds they touched my cheek, 
The soft moon shone, but he did not speak, 



LONG AGO. 

And my heart beat fast with a quick delight 
That was not due to the summer night. 

I cannot tell the how nor when. 

I had never a thought of love till then. 

But before I knew the thing was true 

We were walking along as lovers do. 

• 

Walking along in a dream of bliss, 
My heart wild beating at love's first kiss, 
My hand warm clasped in another's hand, 
And my young feet straying in fairy land. 

It all began that night in May 
When winds were soft and flowers gay. 
The summer days were fair, how fair ! 
They slipped away I know not where. 

They were golden days filled to the brim 
With beautiful thoughts of love and him. 
They were flying hours with winged feet. 
Ah never since then has time been fleet ! 



149 



I50 LONG AGO. 

For when the summer days were done 

And the trees flushed red 'neath the autumn sun, 

A plague swept over our little town 

Mowing the bravest and strongest down. 

And we went away, but I fell ill. 
The world grew dark and time stood still. 
And day and night the fever drank 
My blood of life till all hope sank. 

But after all the fever passed 

And I came back to the world at last. 

To find its glory passed away 

And laid in the grave with Percy Gray. 

I did not grieve so much for him. 
It was not that, but the world grew dim, 
Grew dim and gray before my eyes 
The glory dashed from its glowing skies. 

I did not pine to hear him speak 
Nor to see his face, but I felt so weak. 



LONG AGO. 

So weak and helpless and all alone, 
The light and color and beauty gone. 

I did not want to live again 
And take up the weight of an endless pain. 
Yet still I lived ; till my hair, that day 
So bright and brown, is thin and gray. 

And I rarely think of those days gone by 
Save under a tender autumn sky. 
But it always brings strange thoughts to me 
Of the days and the hours that used to be. 



151 



TAKING THE VEIL. 



Dramatis Persons. 



Sister Regina. 


A nun. 


Sister Alice, 


A nun. 


Lady Abbess. 




Eulalie. 


A young lady about to take the veil. 


Captain. 


The lover. 


A BOY, 





Act I. 

Scene. — A lonely garden. The lover alone, standing 
as though waiting for some one. 



Capt. The hour for our meeting draws on. Will 

she dare 
To risk what she must if she grant my wild prayer? — 
Yet she promised. — This waiting is horrible. — See ! 
What dream of delight through the dusk comes to 

me ! 



TAKING THE VEIL. 153 

Eulalie ! Eulalie ! She comes through the gloom. 
Now blest am I, though this dark spot be my tomb. 
{Enter Eulalie.'] He starts forward. 

Heaven bless you for coming. 

Eulalie. Nay, come not more near. 

For one moment alone I can meet with you here. 
My footsteps are guarded ; there are spies every- 
where. 
For one moment alone I eluded their care, 
For the last time on earth to say, Farewell forever, 
To the friend that I loved. For fate with its never 
Shuts the future away from me. This is the end 
Of my life in the world. 

Capt. Think you I would send 

With such eagerness hither to bid you to come. 
When I knew all the terrible risks you would run, 
With no purpose beside this, to whisper the last 
Tender words that will shut out forever my past? 
Not so. All is ready to bear you away 
From this horrible death again to life's day. 
To-morrow ere this we two will be far 



154 



TAKING THE VEIL. 



On our way to a land where no prisons there are 
Which pretend to be gates unto heaven. 

Eulalie. Too late 

Are your efforts to shake off the bonds of my fate. 
To-morrow I take the black veil. Nevermore 
Shall I look in. your face as I once did of yore. 
Let me go ! Tempt me not ! I am sinful and weak. 

(Ja-pt The hour of your taking it? Eulalie, speak. 

Eulalie. Eight o'clock in the evening. 

Ca;pt. Not so. Oh not so ! 

For six is the hour I have fixed on to go. 

Eulalie. I cannot escape those who watch me. 
Too late 
Have you come. Give me up, give me up to my fate. 
They will miss me if here any longer I wait. 

Capt. One moment. To-morrow at six meet me 
here. 
Some way you will find to escape. Never fear. 
And then we are safe. Can I trust you will come? 

Eulalie. Risk nothing for me. I am used to the 
dumb 



TAKING THE VEIL. 



155 



Unquestioning torpor of pain. Let me die. 
I cannot escape them. 

Capt. But say, you will try. 

Only that much, will try to come here at the time 
I have set. 

Eulalie. I will try, and farewell. \_Exeunt.'\ 

Act II. 

Scene. — A room in the convent. The abbess and two 
nuns seated. 

Sister Reyina. Holy mother, I dread 

Lest Sister Ignatia is out of her head. 
You know she has wept until even tears fail, 
Through the dread which she has of taking the veil. 
But a change has at last come over her mind. 
She has grown to be cheerful, and seems quite 

resigned 
To the holy vocation before her. I think, 
Lest her mind change again, now she stands on the 

brink 



156 TAKING THE VEIL. 

Of this step, it were better to have the thing o'er, 
And to alter the hour from eight unto four. 
What think you ? 

Abbess. Why, just as you think will be best. 
Perhaps, if 'twere done now, before she has guessed 
At our plans, since you say she's resigned. 
She would not have time to again change her mind. 

Sister Reyina. {Rising.) 
Then I'll let it be known that in thinking it o'er 
You concluded to change the hour to four. 

Abbess. (^Calliny her back.) 
Let a messenger straightway be sent out to call 
To my aid the young friar of Esk, Father Paul. 

[_Exit Sister Reyina. '\ 

Act III. 

Scene. — The court. Sister Reyina. Boy. 

Sister Reyina. The lady superior has sent her 
commands 
For you to deliver this note to the hands 
Alone of the young friar of Esk, Father Paul, 



TAKING THE VEIL. 157 

And to say to his worship to make ready all 
That is needed for Sister Ignatia to-day 
At four instead of at eight. Now away 
And waste not a moment but be here again 
Some time before noon. I will be with you then. 

\Ex{t Sister Rnginn.'] 

{Boi/ stands with hands in pockets) [Enter Eulalie.'] 

EuJalie. Sister Regina has been with you ? What 
did she say? 

Boy. She said I should carry this letter away 
And tell Father Paul he should be here at four 
Instead of at eight as she'd planned out before. 
And I'm thinking the Captain will be rather late, 
If he waits until six at the old convent gate. 

Eulalie. You have done so much for me, but now 
will you go 
Straight off to the Captain and tell him I know 
All of this, and unless he is here before four 
My face upon earth, he will see never more ? — 
But how can I see him ? — But tell him to come 
And keep Father Paul for a while yet at home. 
Some time perhaps I can repay you for all. 



158 TAKING THE VEIL. 

Boy All right, Miss, I'll try to keep back Father 
Paul. 

Act IV. 

Scene. — A room in the convent. 

[^Eulalie seated. Enter Sister Regina.'] 

Sister Regina. Young Sister Ignatia, the hour is 
so near. 
It is needful that you should our plans at last hear. 
In ten minutes hence Father Paul will arrive 
To hear your confession, your spirit to shrive. 
And to make you without, as doubtless you've been 
For a long year; the chaste bride of heaven, within. 
And 'tis time that to think upon this you'd begun. 

Eulalie. To think of it. Yes. But one moment, 
one, 
Leave me here to myself. Let me think of the past 
Ere I give it up all. For the last time, the last. 
Leave me here for these short ten minutes alone. 



TAKING THE VEIL. i^^ 

Sister Reijina But, my sister, the world and its 
follies are gone. 
They are all dead to you. Think on holy things now. 
'Tis no time to look backward on follies below. 
Eulalie. O spare me ! And you, you are young. 
In the past 
Had you never one hope that when perished at last 
Left the whole world a desert,— no dream of delight 
That when faded enwrapped the whole world in its 

night ? 
Oh ! I am young yet, and think of the years 
In which I must pour out my whole life in tears, 
And only ten minutes left. Leave them to me. 
Sister Reyina. Well, my sister, be ready. I grant 
this to thee. 

[^Exit Sister Reyina.'] 

Act V. 

Scene.— 4 room in the convent. [Abbess and Sister 
Alice."] 
Abbess. But how ? when ? and where ? Who left 
her alone? 



l6o TAKING THE VEIL. 

It cannot be true. Are you sure she has gone ? 
Gone ? Run away with a heretic lover ? 
The thing with disgrace the convent will cover ! 
Who left her alone ? Who opened the gate ? 
What was it that made the young friar so late ? 
Si&ter Alice. Why, the boy that you sent found the 

roads were so rough 
That he had to go over them slowly enough. 
And just at the corner his horse, taking fright. 
Tossed him over the fence, and was off out of sight. 
And it took him a long while to catch him again ; 
And when he did catch him at last, mother, then 
He had been gone so long that the friar was late. 
And the gardener's son left open the gate. 
When he went out to bring in some turnips he'd 

bought. 
And poor Sister Regina, she certainly thought 
Sister Ignatia needed the moments alone 
To prepare, and when she went back she was gone, 
With herself to blame for it, and nobody else. 



SOLOMON GRUNDY. 

^^ ^ OLOMON Grundy, 
Born on Monday, 
Christened on Tuesday, 
Married on Wednesday, 
Sick on Thursday, 
Worse on Friday, 
Dead on Saturday, 
Buried on Sunday: 
This was the end 
Of Solomon Grundy." 

Mother Goose. 

Solomon Grundy brief his life. 
Born, and christened, and took a wife, 
Sick, and ailing, sinking, dead. 
Put in the grave and all is said. 

What did he do in his fourscore years ? 
Who keeps record of all the tears 



1 62 SOLOMON GRUNDY. 

And all the smiles of his babyhood ? 
Was little Solomon sweet and good ? 

What did he wear on his christening day ? 
Nurse and mother have passed away. 
None shall tell of the falling lace, 
None, how sweet was the baby face. 

None remembers all the joy 

Of the mother's heart o'er the bonny boy 

As little Sol grew tall and strong 

And showed that never could he do wrong. 

None remembers the bitter pain 

When the mother's heart seemed rent in twain, 

When little Sol grown strong and tall 

Met one day such a dreadful fall. 

And the servants screamed, and the doctor came 
And bound poor Solomon's bruised frame. 
But aching hearts forgot their pain 
For Solomon soon was himself again. 



SOLOMON GRUNDY. 

Who keeps record of all the years, 
Of all the hopes, and of all the fears, 
The high ambitions of college days, 
The Greek and Latin, the student's praise. 

The longing for something, the eager thirst 
To drink of the fountain whose waters burst 
From the cool green breast of the Helicon. 
Where Pegasus drank in days long gone ? 

Who knows the noble thoughts and true, 
Solomon G., that sleep with you? 
Under the daisies, under the grass. 
You hear no voices, no feet that pass. 

Solomon loved a fair-faced bride 
Sweeter than aught in the world beside. 
Who knows the hopes and the vague unrest 
That troubled Solomon's manly breast? 

Perhaps he loved, and loving lost, 
Perhaps his love was early crossed, 



163 



1 64 SOLOMON GRUNDY. 

And, sorrowing over a wasted life, 

His heart grew stern and he took a wife. 

Perhaps the wooing went smoothly on 
Till, his sweet betrothal over and done 
And a tenderer star shining down on his life, 
Solomon Grundy took a wife. 

Then came the strife in the world's broad field. 
Who shall conquer ? and who shall yield ? 
O Solomon G., did you win the crown 
Of a victor there and gain renown ? 

Or, weary, fainting, sick at heart, 
With none to soothe your wound's fierce smart. 
Turned you away from the well-fought field, 
Unable to conquer, too proud to yield ? 

Did you bravely bear your failure then 
And hide your hurt from the sight of men ? 
Who shall tell ? for under the grass 
You hear no voices, no steps that pass. 



SOL OMON GR UND V. 165 

For Solomon G. grew ill, grew ill ; 
The room was darkened, the house was still. 
There were bitter tears by the sufferer's bed, 
And tender sorrowful words were said. 

For Solomon G. grew worse and worse ; 
Vain were the efforts of friends and nurse. 
When spring was wild with light and bloom 
Solomon G. went down to the tomb. 

Was there weeping wild in the stricken home 
For its stay and prop forever gone ? 
Who shall tell ? Low under the sod 
Solomon Grundy sleeps with God. 



"Solomon Grundy" was written in the classroom 
as an impromptu composition. The teacher gave 
the Mother Goose lines, which the author had never 
before heard. Twenty-five minutes were allowed 
for the composition, and at the end of that time 
this poem was produced exactly as here given. — Ed. 



ORIGIN OF THE VALENTINE, 

iN a balmy day when the world was young 

St. Valentine went wooing ; 
'For the saint himself was young that day 
And his suit was long a-doing ; 
So he rode along by field and wood 
One line of thought pursuing. 

"What shall I do to win, to win, 

To win the fair Ignatia?" 
And he rang the changes o'er and o'er. 

"Ignatia, fair Ignatia. 
What shall I try that's yet untried 

To move the fair Ignatia ?" 

The clouds above him white and still 

Went floating by unheeding, 
The branches waved in golden light 

Unmindful of his pleading. 



ORIGIN OF THE VALENTINE, \ 67 

And a robin red sat all forlorn 
As though some counsel needing. 

The good saint spoke his mind aloud, — 

A way he had of doing, 
"What can I do to help me in, 

To help me in my wooing? 
To win the fair Ignatia 

Who's deaf to all my suing ? 

Ignatia, Ignatia" — 

The robin interrupted. 
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, 

"The world is all corrupted. 
I'll tell you how to win, if you 

Will help me when instructed. 

The breath of spring is in the air, 

In every wind a-blowing. 
Yet not a bird will pair, will pair 

As though the thing not knoAving. 
There '11 not a nest be built, be built 

Until we find it snowing. 



1 68 ORIGIN OF THE VALENTINE. 

If you '11 just say it 's balmy spring 
And not bleak February — " 

[They had another word for Feb. 
In those old days and merry, 

But I 've forgotten what it is, 
A learned name though — very.] 

"If you '11 just say it 's balmy spring 
I '11 win my mate to-morrow, 

And then to aid you in your suit 
Such potent help I '11 borrow 

You '11 win your fair Ignatia 
And rise above your sorrow." 

The good saint said, " In this your plea 

I '11 own I 'm interested. 
But how can /change what is made 

And settled and attested ? 
The power to make a black thing white 

In me was never vested." 

"Just say the word," replied the bird. 
"Last week in Jove's own palace 



ORIGIN OF THE VAIENTINE. 1 69 

He poured some red wine out and said, 
'There 's white wine in my chalice; 

And furthermore this silver 's gold 
And shall be gold aut nullus.' " 

The good saint mused. What Jove had done 

A private saint might venture. 
"What 's right for Jove is right for me," 

He thought. That proved a clencher. 
At least it led to something else. 

And that, to this adventure. 

St. Valentine proclaimed the word. 

He said it really grieved him 
The birds should think it chill ; to say 

'Twas balmy spring relieved him. 
The birds they shivered in their shoes. 

But every bird believed him. 

And robin red he won his mate, 

But, true as thrice-tried armor. 
He lingered not, but kept his word 

And left his lovely charmer. 



I 70 ORIGIN OF THE VALENTINE. 

(His deep concern expressing, lest 
His absence should alarm her.) 

He flew up to the silent sky 

Where whitest clouds were flying. 

He bore away a fleecy cloud 
Where golden light was lying, 

Where the Loves had lain in tranced dreams 
And perfumed it with sighing. 

He twined about it every flower 
That blooms by summer river — 

The blue Forget-me-not, the white 
Star-shaped Love-me-forever. 

And then he flew to Cupid's court 
To touch it with his quiver. 

St. Valentine he mused and mused, — 
"What shall I do to woo her?" 

When robin red came down and said, 
"Just please present this to her 

And you will find yourself ere long 
A proud and happy wooer." 



ORIGIN OF THE VAIENTINE. 

The good saint doubted, but he went, 
And things divine, before him. 

The Loves stooped from out a cloud 
Their witchery flung o'er him. 

And the valentine the gods had blessed 
Did all his wooing for him. 



P. S. — Lest some one wise should hint that saints 

And Cupids do not tally, 
I'll add that when my hero made 

This grand, successful sally 
He was not yet a saint at all 

But simply known as Vally. 



171 



DIALECT POEMS. 



FRANK DE LEE. 

will tell you of a story 

That was told one time to me, 
When I dwelt within a far home 
By the "murmuring Mexic Sea;" 
And my negro nurse told wondrous 

Tales of fairies from the deep, 

And mermaids stealing lovely girls 

To drown them in their sleep. 

The solemn pine-trees' moaning voice 

Would mingle with her tale, 
And the whip-poor-will with plaintive tone 

Take up the mournful wail. 
Once, when the light and darkness 

Were blending in the air 
And a haunted feeling filled the heart 

Of childhood unaware, — 
While the pine-knot's ruddy brightness 

Flared flickering on the wall. 



176 



FRANK DE LEE. 



My old nurse told this story 
Of pride, and sin, and fall. 

''Mighty hahd and cruel mahstah 

Was young Mahstah Frank De Lee. 
Such a man as he was, honey, 

May youh young eyes neveh see. 
He had seven hund'ed people 

On his big Red Riveh place. 
An' he owned five hund'ed othehs 

Down upon de Bayou Teche. 

Dah de big-jawed alligatohs 

Swam along de bayou's banks, 
An' he 'd t'row de leetle child'en 

Right among deh hungry ranks. 
An' de whippin' -stocks was drippin* 

Wid fresh blood streams all day long, 
An' de very aih was tawtched 

Wid de soun' of screamin's strong ; 
An' throughout de hull wide region 

Ob de Tuckapaw, his name 



FRANK DE LEE. 

Was de one de mahstahs used 
To make deh lazy niggahs tame. 

One day Mahstah Frank went drivin', 

Drivin' deeh along de Teche 
Wid de blood-hoims' ob his trainin'; 

An' his frien's jined in de chase. 
Long dey rode, an' foun' no deehs dah ; 

Fah dey rode, an' hot de day. 
Aftah while young mahstah foun' him 

All alone, an' fah away 
From his own plantation buildin's 

All alone — he knew not whah. 
An' de dahk come gloomin' roun' him, 

But he could not see a stah. 
An' a feelin' come upon him 

Ob a Presence by his side. 
An' he felt his flesh a-crawlin', 

An' his heaht widin him died. 

Through de woods he saw a gleamin'. 
Through de trees he saw a light, 



177 



I yS FRANK DE LEE. 

An' it drawed him tawd it, tawd it, 

An' he saw a feahful sight. 
Sight no mavvtal saw befohe him, 

An' no mawtal e'eh will see, 
Sight dat broke de cruel sperit, 

De hahd heaht of Mahs. De Lee. 
He had mawied a young lady, 

Miss Helene of Pointe Coupee; 
An' she died because heh heaht broke. 

An' heh death was sad to see. 
But he saw heh, through de trees dah, 

Wid heh beautiful pale face. 
An' he saw two blood-stained bodies • 

He had shot on Bayou Teche. 

Ole Judge Lyon's only gran'son, 

Twenty-one de day he died, 
Wid two bullets in his body 

An' a knife-cut in his side. 
An' Miss Margy's tall young husban'. 

Fines' man along de Teche, 
Mahs' De Lee had took offence at 

An' had shot befohe heh face. 



FRANK DE LEE. 

An' he saw de leetle child 'en 

From de watahs cold arise. 
An' dey all weh starin' at him 

Wid deh great, dead, glassy eyes. 
Long he tried to call fo' help dah, 

But he could not make a soun', 
Or de win's up in de pine-trees, 

His po' callin's must ha' drown'. 

No one knows what mo' he saw dah ; 

Fo', upon de break of day, 
Frien's who had been sahchin' fo' him 

Would not take de kawpse away. 
Black it was an' chah'd wid fyah. 

An', when some one touched his head, 
Fyah leaped up from his eyeballs ; 

So dey tuhn' an' lef ' him — dead. 

But his ghos' still walks de woods dah, 
Still it leads de hunt an' chase; 

An' his sperit tole dis story 
To a man on Bayou Teche. 



179 



1 80 FRANK DE LEE. 

An' dat man went ravin' crazy, 
Neveh had no min' agin. 

Dem's de consequinces, honey, 
Of pehsistin' on in sin." 



THE HIGH WATER. 

AH'S a place in Pointe Coupee, sah, 

Whah de riveh used to flow. 
) I suppose 't was ten or twenty, 

Maybe eighty, yeahs ago. 
Uncle Jawge says when he come heah 

De ole watah-cawse was full. 
An' de new one wasn't dah yet ; 

But den Uncle Jawge is ole. 

Why, when he come to dis country. 

All dese piney woods you sees 
Was one wavin' fiel' ob cane-brakes, 

Wid a few pehsimmon trees 
Scattered in an' out among 'em. 

Not a gum-tree in de state. 
Mighty scanty 'coons an' 'possums, 

Sah, I reckon, at dat rate. 



1 82 THE HIGH WATER. 

Uncle Jawge tole me de story 

Ob de big high-watah yeah 
When de riveh's cawse got turned so. 

Tell you ? Ef you wants to heah. 
It was aftah cotton-pickin', 

Almost sugah-plantin' time. 
Uncle Jawge lived neah de riveh, 

An' he says about dat time, 
You could see de watah risin', 

Risin', risin', high an' strong. 
An" de han's was kep' a-workin' 

At de levee all night long. 

Night an' day dey worked an' worked dah, 

Day an' night de watah spread ; 
In de dahkness dey could heah it 

Lappin roun' de levee head. 
Bayou Rouge was ovehflowin' 

Oveh on de otheh side ; 
An' de Chafalayah Riveh 

Was a spreadin' fah an' wide. 



THE HIGH WATER. 

On de wes' bank of de riveh 

Was de Mahstah's big white house 
Wid de niggah quahtahs neah it, 

But between was Bayou Bouse. 
It was nothin' in de summah, 

An' dried up one half de yeah ; 
But jes' den you couldn't cross it 

'Dhout you had a dug-out neah. 

So de Mahstah stayed across it 

In de ovehseah's place, 
An' dey say he got so changed dah 

You 'd a hardly knowed his face. 
But he stayed out on de levee, 

An' de niggahs worked deh bes', 
But de watah kep' a-risin', 

An' dah wa'n't no time fo' res' ; 
An' de riveh was jes' filled wid 

Snags dat come a-rushin' down, 
An' got druv into de levee 

An' went whirlin' roun' an' roun'. 



1 84 THE HIGH WATER. 

An' de watah got so swif dah 

Seemed as if mos' any day 
It would sweep de whole embankmen' 

Of de levee clean away. 
But de boys kep' workin', workin', 

Day an' night an' all night long, 
An' de watah kep' a-risin', 

Growin' high an' growin' strong. 
All de wes' was full of watah, 

Ever^ little branch was high ; 
All de eas' was ovehflowin' 

From the Rouge an' Chafalay. 

One day when de Mahstah come dah 

Dey seed de levee couldn't las' ; 
But he tole deni up de riveh 

Dah had broke a big crevasse. 
An' a heap o' men was drownded. 

"So," he said, "dah's dis ting sho', 
Dat will take de weight o' watah. 

An' you needn't work no mo' 



THE HIGH WATER. 185 

Like you have been." De boys watched him 

As he walked off to de branch, 
Dey had all guv up deh workin', 

Waitin' fo' de boat to launch. 

He was sittin' in de dug-out 

On de watah ob de Bouse, 
An' he called to Uncle Jawge to 

Come an' row him to de house. 
An' dey say he sot dah smilin' 

Lookin' 'crost like he could see 
Little Eustace at de window 

An' young Mistes Eulalie. 

All at once dah come a sudden 

Soun', like thundeh in de aih, 
An' de watah swep' de levee 

Like 'twas straw dat had been dah. 
In de bayou rushed de riveh, 

In a minute bofe was gone ; 
Fo' de bayou was de riveh 

An' dey bofe was mixed in one. 



1 86 THE HIGH WATER. 

Fo' de watah from de riveh 

Caught de watah from de Bouse, 

Till it seemed like a great ocean 
Rollin' down upon de house. 

By de time dey heahd dat thundeh 

All de house was swep' away ; 
'Twa'n't no time to give no ohdehs, 

Not a minute fo' to pray. 
Dah dey two weh driftin', driftin' 

On de riveh big an' wide, 
Nothin' near but floatin' pieces, 

Snags aroun' on every side. 

Uncle Jawge says Mahstah sot dah 

White an' still, like he was dead, 
Gazin' wid his eyes wide open 

On de watah straight ahead. 
I suppose dat he was stunned like 

Wid de swif 'ness of de whole. 
An' it seemed as if de watahs 

Was a-rollin' o'eh his soul. 



THE HIGH WATER. 187 

It grew dahk aroun', an' still he 

Didn't seem to draw no breff, 
An' it felt like floatin' down de 

Valley of de Shade of Deff. 
Dah he sot a-gazin', gazin' 

Straight ahead wid starin' eyes, 
Till he seed a somethin' neah 'em 

On de watah fall an' rise. 

It was Mahstah Eustace's cradle 

Dat had got out from de house, 
An' washed up, an' now was floatin' 

Bottom up'ards down de Bouse. 
Uncle Jawge says when he seed it 

Dat he jes' throwed back his head 
An' slipped down'ards in de dug-out, 

So he guv him up fo' dead. 

An' it kep' a-growin' dahkeh. 

Aftah while he seed a stah, 
But it looked so white an' awful 

An' it seemed so still an' fah 



I THE HIGH WATER. 

He was glad de clouds come driftin' 
Up de sky an' hid de light ; 

But, he says, dah was an awful 
Feelin' roun' him all dat night. 

Fo' de watah seemed to whispeh 

Or to sob like children's cries. 
An' when it got light a little 

He could see big shinin' eyes 
On de watah all aroun' him, 

An' the watah flash an' smile, 
An' den whispeh, whispeh, whispeh. 

Like a little laughin' chile. 

Den he seed de day a-dawnin', 

Evenin' come an' lef him dah 
All alone upon de haunted 

Watah ; den he knowed no mo'. 
Dey was picked up by a steamboat 

Dat nex' week. But no one knows 
What it was dat killed the Mahstah. 

Doctoh said de shock, he s'pose. 



THE HIGH WATER. 189 

Uncle Jawge says when de watah 

Settled back into its place 
Dat it lef de ole-time channel 

Fo' de new one fuhdeh wes', 
An' dey called de ole False Riveh. 

But he lef ole Pointe Coupee ; 
Couldn't beah to think of Mahstah 

An' young Mistes Eulalie. 

An' he says fo' long month aftah 

Dat he couldn't shet his eyes 
But he'd see Mahs' Eustace's cradle 

On de watah fall an' rise. 
An' he'd heah the watah whispeh, 

Whispeh, whispeh, like a chile, 
An' he'd see it flash an' quiveh, 

An' he'd see it dance an' smile. 

So he t'ought he'd leave de country. 

Eh sah ? What was dat you say ? 
What became of all de niggahs? 

Oh ! sah, dey was swep' away. 



f 



JOHN GAIR. 



OF EAST FELICIANA. 

]0U see, Boss, dat I was presen' 
When dey killed John Gaih. 
^ No one knowed, but I was hidin' 
In de pine woods dah. 



I was out dat night a-huntin'. 

Bad night, sah, fo' coon ; 
Fo' you see 'twas light as mawnin', 

Dah was sech a moon. 

I was jes' a-tuhnin' homewahd, 

An' my tawch was out, 
When I t' ought I heahd a tramplin' 

An' a fah-off shout. 

Dose was ticklish times, you know, sah, 
An' I t'ought I'd hide ; 



JOHN GAIR. 1 91 

Dah's no tellin' 'bout de white folks 
When dey's out to ride. 

Well, de soun' kep' comin' neaheh, 

Till dey got in sight ; 
Nigh about a hund'ed men, sah, 

An' deh guns was bright. 

Dey was all full ahmed wid muskets, 

Carried pistols too. 
An' I couldn't help but wondeh 

What dey gwine to do. 

I could heah dem all a-talkin, 

Plain us you heah me. 
An' I foun' dat dey was waitin' 

Po' John Gaih to see. 

You see, he had been arrested 

Down to Baton Rouge, 
An' he begged an' prayed de sheriff — 

Life is hahd to lose — 



192 JOHN GAIR. 

Not to take him up to town heah ; 

Fo' de folks had said 
Ef dey caught him in de parish 

Dey would shoot him dead. 

So I knowed dat dey was waitin' 

Till he pass' dat way. 
You could easy tell what den, sah, 

An' I tried to pray. 

But I couldn't think o' nothin', 

As de time went by, 
But jes' what a pretty night 't was 

Fo' a man to die. 

Oh ! I tell you it seemed hahd sah. 

To be shot down dead, 
Wid de world so white an' shinin' 

From de moon o'eh-head. 

An' den he was young an' strong, sah. 
But de white folks t' ought 



JOHN GAIR. 193 

'Lection times would go off betteh 
If John Gaih was caught. 

,Fo' you 'd hahdly fin' a niggah, 

Hunt de parish through, 
But would follow whah he 'd lead 'em, 
An' what he said, do. 

Dah I sot an' watched de white men — 

I can't tell no names. 
Fah off? Well, I knows dat too, sah. 

But I tells no names. 

Dah was boys not oveh twenty. 

I could see dem ride 
Roun' an' roun' de tree below me. 

An' I sot an' tried 

Fo' to pray to God to save him, 

Po' John, from dat death ; 
But I felt so sick an' dizzy 

Couldn't get my breath. 



194 JOHN GAIR. 

Aftah while I heahd a-tramplin', 

An' I shuck wid feah. 
Well I knowed it was de sheriff 

An' de men wid Gaih. 

All got still as death aroun' me, 

'Cept de hosses' feet 
Soundin' neah an' soundin' neaheh, 

Like de death-watch beat. 

An' dese little quiv'rin' owls, sah, 
(Sign o' death, dey say,) 

Got to callin' in de pine-trees 
Jes' a step away. 

Dey come neah, tuhned de corneh. 

Den dey was in sight ; 
Giah was ridin' in de middle, 

Bofe his han's boun' tight. 

In a minute dey was roun' him, — 
Nigh a hund'ed men. 



JOHN G AIR. 195 

Dat his time had come fo' dyin' 
Gaih was cehtain den. 

But he gazed aroun' him, prayin' 

Dey would save his life. 
You see he had little child'en 

An' a sickly wife ; 

An' it's hahd to die like dat, sah. 

But I heahd dem say, 
"Too late now, John. Jes' five minutes 

Lef fo' you to pray." 

He throwed back his head and stahed up 

At de shinin' sky, 
An' I knowed dat he was thinkin' 

What a time to die. 

Dah was jes' dat look about him, 

In his strain in' eyes. 
You have seen a wounded deeh have 

Jes' befo' it dies. 



196 JOHN GAIR. 

Den he drapped down on his knees dah ; 

But dey couldn't stay 
(Seemed like dey was in a hurry.) 

Fo' po' John to pray. 

Fo' while he was kneelin' quiet, 

Some one shot a gun, 
An' I heahd a cry, an' den de 

Shots come, one by one. 

Seems to me dey must have fihed 

Aftah he was gone ; 
Fo' I heahd de shots long aftah 

I could heah him groan. 

Dey made cehtain dey had killed him, 

Den dey rid away. 
An' I come down and went to him — 

It was light as day. 

An' I didn't want to see him 
Mangled wid de shot ; 



JOHN G AIR. 197 



But I couldn't help but do it, 
Wantin' to or not. 

Oh ! ef you had seen him lyin', 

All de grasses wet 
Wid his blood, as I did, mahstah, 

You could not fo'get. 

He was riddled wid de bullets, 

All shot troo an' troo, 
An' his po' dead face was awful 

Wet with bloody dew. 

An' somehow, as I stood by him — 

Face an' head all wet 
Wid de red drops — I got thinkin' 

Ob de bloody sweat 

On de forehead of the Mahstah, 

An' I t'ought dat he 
Had seen all po' John had suffered 

Betteh fah dan me. 



198 JOHN G AIR. 

An' de blood drops dat was scattehed 

'Neath de shinin' skies, 
Like de blood of righteous Abel, 

To de Lord might rise. 



THE CARPET-BAGGER. 

E Yankees is curious people, 

Dey 's curious people fo' sho', 
An' de longeh I lives fo' to see it 
De betteh dat knowledge I know. 

Back heah, long in Reb-time, folks tole us, 
Jes' as sahtain as we all was bawn, 

De Yankees had eyes in deh shouldehs. 
An' in front of deh heads was a hawn. 

Believe it? Why, sahtainly. Yes, sah. 

Of cawse, we believe what we's tole. 
I reckon you didn't live roun' heah 

When I was 'bout twenty yeah ole. 

Well, when I fus' look at a Yankee, 
I seed he had eyes in his head. 

An' I seed he hadn' no hawn dah 
As some of de people had said. 



200 THE CARPET-BAGGER. 

But I piade up my min' in a minute 
De white folks was mighty correc' 

In thinkin' de Yankees was curious. 
You think dat youhself, sah, I spec'. 

Dey hasn't no feelin's of honoh ; 

I 've heahd dat from people who knows. 
I neveh knowed none but dis one, sah ; 

But dey 's all jes' alike, so I s'pose. 

Dis one, he was name' Misteh Lawrence, 

He seized a plantation fo' debt. 
An' de gemman he swohe he would shoot him 

De very fus' chance he could get. 

An' he call' him a reg'lar gran' rascal, 
Right 'fo' de bes' people in town. 

An' said de fus' time he could see him 
He'd sahtainly shoot him right down. 

Of cawse, Misteh Lawrence heahd 'bout it. 
But he seem' not to min' in de leas' ; 



THE CARPET-BAGGER. 20 1 

He jes' had de gemman boun' oveh 
By de jestice to keep up de peace. 

An' everyone said how low-down 'twas, 

An' jes' what a Yankee would do, 
Dat had no sensations of honoh ; 

But he seemed not to min' dat ah, too. 

At fus' he belonged to the Bureau, 
He was gettin' on 'bout thihty-five. 

I've seed ign'ant people, but he was 
De ign'antest pehson alive. 

He said aftehnoon, sah, fo' evenin'. 

An' den he said evenin' fo' night ; 
An' long as he live' in de parish 

He neveh could leahn what was right. 

He was always a-guessin' an' guessin'. 
He neveh knowed nothin' fo' sho' ; 

An' he always kep' callin' me misteh. 
Till I tole him my fus' name was Joe. 



202 THE CARPET-BAGGER. 

Den dah 's Peteh dat tole me about him, 

Said often an' often he 'd go 
An' saddle his own hoss fo' ridin', 

Like as ef he 's a niggah, fo' sho'. 

He lived heah in town seve'l yeahs, sah. 

He was sheriff, an' clehk of de couht ; 
An' den he was made ovehseeh 

Of de schools, an' things of dat soht. 

He was jedge fo' awhile in de parish, 
An' aasessoh one yeah fo' awhile ; 

Den somethin' dat paid him fo' ridin' — 
It was so many dollahs a mile, 

Jes' heah at dis minute I seems, sah, 

To be disremem'rin' de name ; 
But I know dat afteh election 

Ole Mahs' Thomson come into de same. 

An' I 'm sahtain, when dis Lawrence held it. 
Of heahin' Mahs' Thomson declahe 



THE CARPET-BAGGER. 20- 

'Twas enough fo' to ruin de country, 
An' de ofifice ought not to be dah. 

'Long de time, yeah befo' de election, 
Dah 'd quite a good many been shot ; 

An' I heahd a hull heap of opinions 
'Bout some soht or otheh of plot. 

An' dis Lawrence got mightily pale, sah ; 

An' he neveh went out fo' a ride 
But he carried a pistol right heah, sah. 

An' one in a belt at his side. 

An' one night de white folks, 'bout thihty 

Or fohty — about dat in all — 
S'rounded de house what he live' in, 

An' den fo' Mahs' Lawrence dey call'. 

You see he 'd oppressed all de people. 
An' deh duty was plain 'fo' deh face ; 

So dey went dah dat night fo' to do it, 
An' deh chief was to get Lawrence' place. 



204 



THE CARPET-BAGGER. 



So dey call', an' de fus' thing dey knowed, sah, 
He stood plain in sight in de do', 

A pistol in each han', an' fihed 
Every barrel in each one, fo' sho'. 

Mo' dan dat, he tuk steady aim, sah, 
An' de white folks was so tuk aback 

Dat he slipped away in de dahkness, 
An' dey neveh could light on his track. 

Of cawse, dey had mighty big times, sah, 

An' all of de people 'roun said : 
What a bloody thing 'twas in dat Lawrence, 

What a good thing 'twould be ef he's dead. 

An' dey talked 'bout de blood-thihsty tyrant, 
I_remembeh, in church de nex' week, 

An' said what an outrage it was, sah, 
De strong ones oppressin' de weak. 

But dat wa'n't de end of him yet, sah, 
You'd a-t'ought he'd a-kep' away den ; 



THE CARPET-BAGGER. 

But dah ain't no accountin' fo' some folks 
An' one mawnin' he come back again. 

De people dat got him away, sah, 
Had tuk all his b'longin's of cawse. 

Misteh Allen was usin' his dwellin', 
An' his brotheh was usin' his hawse. 

But what did dis heah Lawrence do, sah, 

But get out a bill in de couht 
Agains' de bes' men in de parish 

Fo' stealin' de goods he had bought. 

An' sence de jedge an' de sheriff 
Was bofe of 'em 'Publicans den, 

Dey had dose dah gemmen arrested 
Fo' dat Yankee — de meanes' of men. 

He sol' off his house an' his gyahden ; 

An' de jedge heah he bought up de hawse ; 
An' de white folks was bailed out o' jail, sah. 

By deh frien's in de parish, ot cawse. 



205 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SOUTHERN WOODS. 

i^H wild vast woods of oak and tanded vine 
r/ Where the lithe serpent glides o er rotting leaves 
@ Or coils his sinuous length within the shade 
& Of the rank nodding ferns ! All living things 
That love damp coolness lurk within thy shade 
And people thy still depths. 

The air dank, 
O'erladen with the myriad forest scents, — 
The rich breath of the ripening muscadine, 
The heavy odor of magnolia flowers. 
The perfumes rising from the rich, moist earth, 
Which sends the flowers like visible music up 
To gladden these still shades. 

Each far from each 
In glory of their strength the great trees stand ; 
While twining vines like twining arms of love 
Reach round and bind them strongly each to each, 



2IO SOUTHERN WOODS. 

Commingling leaf and leaf in one close bond 
As strong as life, which death alone can part. 

And over all, 
And mingling with the perfumes in the air, 
And mingling with the greenness and the bloom. 
Of perfume and of beauty each a part, — 
The voiceless music of the whispering woods. 
One moment, and it seems that all is still. 
The winds are hushed ; and, wrapped in ecstacy, 
The leaves are slumbering on each slumbering tree. 
A spell of silence broods o'er all. But list ! 
Far off the singing voices of the winds 
Come swelling, swelling, till their murmur grows 
To one glad burst of overflowing sound 
That gushes round and o'er the swaying leaves 
Like water rippling o'er a bed of ferns. 



MISTLETOE. 2 I I 



MISTLETOE. 

SONG of the mistletoe bough I sing. 

She dwells in a home of eternal spring. 
^^ The tall trees whisper, "O come unto me ! 

And deep in my heart shall your sweet home 
be." 
For dainty and fair is the mistletoe bough, 
And well do her beauty the great trees know. 

She Cometh, the mistletoe bough. 

Her step is light as the breezes blow, 

And the sound of her coming is soft and low. 

She cometh, she cometh, the mistletoe bough. 
She sleepeth soft in the great tree's heart. 
No sound can sever her dreams apart. 
And low and soft is the amorous tune 
Which the fond old trees so tenderly croon. 
And loving and soft and dainty and deep 
Are the dreams she dreams as she lies asleep. 

The dreaming mistletoe bough. 

Low and tender the fond winds blow 



212 MISTLETOE. 

Their whispering voices are st)ft and low 
As they hush the dreaming mistletoe bough. 

Oh the mistletoe bough to warm life wakes ! 

'Tis the voice of love that her slumber breaks ; 

And the food of her life is the heart-blood warm 

Of the staunch old tree that shields her from harm. 

Oh ! the food of her life is the heart-love strong 

Of the brave old tree whose tender song 

Once stilled to sleep the mistletoe bough. 
The wakened, the loving, the mistletoe bough, 
Her whispering murmur is soft and low, 
Yet well she loveth — the mistletoe bough. 

Though cold be the winter and dark as a storm. 

The sheltering arms wrap her closely and warm. 

Though Winter, the ice and the cold snows bring 

Forever she dwells in eternal spring. 
The dainty mistletoe bough. 
The voice of her song is tender and low. 
The thought of her heart none ever can know 
Save the lovers that kiss 'neath the mistletoe 
bough. 



CEDAR AND PINE. 



213 



CEDAR AND PINE. 

[iH ! list to a sorrowful song 

' Of the sorrowful cedar and pine. 

They are proud they are strong, 

Their voice a song, 
And the breath of their lips is like wine. 

They dwell in the beautiful north. 

They dwell in the beautiful south. 
And they gather the snows 
Where the icy wind blows 

And they gather the sun in the south. 

'Neath the snows of the beautiful north, 
'Neath the sun of the beautiful south, 

They shiver with pain 

In the chill icy rain 
And they shiver with pain in the south. 



214 



DE CORA TION DA Y. 

The best song they know is a sigh, 
Their saddest no mortal can frame. 
But their voice is a wail 
In the chill northern gale 
And their song in the south is the same. 



'M^ 



DECORATION DAY. 

SOMG of the past. A song for the brave. 
Lo ! over the land sweeps the battle's red 
wave. 
^ Who go forth to battle for the right and the 
truth 
In the first flush of life, and the first pride of youth ? 
Ye have seen them, ye know them, your brothers, 

your sons, 
Through their veins 't is your own blood so hotly 
that runs. 



DECORA TION DA V. 



215 



'Tis the land of your fathers whereon they now 

tread, — 
The land for whose freedom your fathers have bled. 

Above them the banner that floats on the air, 

Lo ! the stars of the Union and stripes are all there. 

It was borne through the battle's wild turmoil and 

strife 
When the country we love first struggled to life. 
* It has gleamed o'er wild prairies and lone mountain 

gorge. 
It cheered the brave spirits in dark Valley Forge. 
It has waved o'er the wild heights of fair Tennessee, 
And seen o'er New England the tired British flee. 

But the strife waxes fierce, the strife waxes sore. 
Sure never were foemen so gallant before. 
Nay, for from the same land have the enemy come. 
In their long ago childhood they shared the same 

home. 
Brothers all. Brothers all. And the strife waxes sore. 
Is the end yet at hand? Do the foemen give o'er? 



2 1 6 DE CORA TION DA V. 

Through the dark cloud of battle look forth on the 

field. 
Is the end yet at hand? Do the enemy yield? 
A shout as of victory comes from the host. 
A wail from the dying on the wild winds is tossed. 
And woe to the mothers whose sons nevermore 
Shall return to the arms that enclosed them of yore. 
And woe to the widows who long, long shall mourn 
For those who went forth nevermore to return. 
And woe to the country whose bravest and best 
On the red soil of battle have fallen to rest. 

A shout as of triumph ! The struggle is done. 
The smoke clears away. The battle is won. 
Oh ! red, red with blood is the land that ye love, 
But the flag of the Union still floateth above. 
Loud and long peals the song of the nation's acclaim. 
But where are the soldiers who bled for her fame? 

A song of the past, yet the tale is not said. 
Lo ! my song of the past is a dirge for the dead. 
For, O weary mourners, no more, nevermore 
Shall ye see the dear faces ye greeted of yore. 



DECORA TION DA Y. 



217 



Down low in the fenlands where the wild cypress 

waves 
Have the loved of your spirits gone down to their 

graves. 
There no tears save the tears of the night dews are 

wept, 
There no watch save the watch of the night winds 

is kept. 
There no flowers are strewn on the desolate sod, 
But the asters shall bloom and the wild golden rod. 
The wild woodland flowers shall deck them in spring 
And the winds shall forever their requiem sing. 

A song of the present. Bring flowers to strew 
The graves of the brave, the gentle, the true. 
Bring the roses of love and the lilies of peace, 
And mingle their bloom with the fragrant heart's- 

ease. 
Let the flowers of remembrance.be scattered to-day, 
Alike ,on the graves of the blue and the gray. 
They sleep on the soil for whose freedom they died. 
The victor and vanquished lie low side by side, 



2i8 ALL-MERCIFUL LOVE. 

And above them the banner that floats on the air, 
Lo ! the stars of the Union, and stripes are all there. 
Keep it free ! Keep it free ! They have left it to you 
With their hearts' blood upon it — the gentle and 
true. 



ALL-MERCIFUL LOVE. 

AM trying as I sit here, 

Dear Lord of eternity. 
To think how thou in thy greatness 

Canst care for one like me. 

For the years that are many and fleeting. 
And more than a man can name. 

Pass slowly on in their courses 
And thou art always the same. 

And men with their cares and troubles. 
Their joys and their clam'rous woe, 



ALL-MERCIFUL LOVE. 219 

Live, strive, and sin before thee. 
And then, with the years, they go. 

Always with their upturned faces. 
They call to thee 'mid their cares. 

Thou growest not weary of hearing, 
Thou never art deaf to their prayers. 

But it seems to my human nature 
The strangest of wondrous things 

That thou in thy infinite greatness 
Canst care for the little things. 

For the sober, brown, little sparrows 

That chirp on the garden wall, 
For the child asleep in the shadows 

That around his cradle fall ; 

Ay, even the brown, little sparrows 

Or the birds in the maple tree. 
Ay, even the child in the shadows, 

And even thou carest for me. 



2 20 ALL-MERCIFUL LOVE. 

And that is the strangest of all things 

I think as I muse to-day, 
For my heart is full unto breaking 

With a sorrow I cannot say. 

For I sin and wander from thee 

And oft into evil fall. 
How canst thou care for one like me, 

Although thou carest for all .^ 

Yet I feel a sense of thy mercy 

Into my spirit steal, 
A sense of thy infinite mercy 

And love so true and so real. 

And I pray this one prayer always 
For myself, for those I love. 

Dear Saviour, help us to serve thee here 
And to meet thee there — above. 



TRUST. 22 1 



TRUST. 



OMETIMES when I'm very tired 

Of myself, to myself I say, 
Now I am very foolish. 

But I may be wise some day. 

Some day in the far-off future 

When this dark hair is gray, 
When my eyes are dull with sorrow 

Oh ! I may be wise that day. 

When my brow is lined with trouble 
And my cheek is thin and pale 

And the brave young strength of springtime 
In my winter begins to fail. 

But I sit and smile in the sunshine 
Though the clouds rise dark and dun. 

I look not before to the tempest, 
I sit and smile in the sun. 



222 



TRUST. 



Though I grow old and older 
And much that I loved is dead, 

Though, if I stop to listen, 
I can hear the ghostly tread 

Of the silent years go past me ; 

Yet I cannot seem to feel 
Any more than a child does 

That pain and death are real. 

I look out into the future 
And no pathway there I see 

But I know however I wander 
That God will care for me. 

And whether I walk thro' the shadows 
Or whether I walk thro' the light 

Why should my heart be careful ? 
I cannot but go aright. 

I never entered the shadow 

But the shadow came to an end ; 

I never was very lonely 
But God gave me a friend. 



EIGHTEEN. 22 

Life, death, and the far-beyond-me 

Are shut away from my eyes. 
I do not care to know them. 

I do not want to be wise. 

Let us live, and be glad in the sunshine. 

Glad in the light of the skies, 
Glad in the wide earth's beauty. 

And let us not seek to be wise. 



EIGHTEEN. 

UT eighteen summers have passed me by, 
I And I am too young to grieve. 
^Though my love has come and my love has 
gone. 
There are joys that loss can leave. 

The sky is as blue above my head, 
And the grass beneath my feet 



224 



EIGHTEEN. 



Is as green as it was two summers agone 
When the dream of my life was sweet. 

The. flowers have just that innocent look, 
Heart full of the springtime's soul, 

They wore when he stooped to pluck them for me 
Where our stream's bright waters roll. 

And those waters move as clear and bright 

With as soft melodious flow 
As they did when we wandered together there 

Two long, bright summers ago. 

The maple trees in their living green 

Are as fair unto my eyes 
As when opened between their stately ranks 

A vista of paradise. 

Why should I sit and grieve to-day 

For the dead and beautiful past. 
For the vanishing light of a tender dream 

Whose glow was too bright to last ? 



THE SCHOOL MISTRESS. 

If there rs a grave within my heart 
Why may not that grave be fair ? 

It is planted o'er with forget-me-nots, 
And there 's heart's-ease blooming there. 

I am content with my life to-day. 

I am too young to weep. 
The flowers bloom and the warm sun shines 

And the laughing waters leap. 



225 



THE SCHOOL MISTRESS. 

STOOD beside the window 

And my heart was o'er the sea, 
A-sailing with my lover, 

Who had sailed away from me ; 
And the tears kept coming, coming, 

Though I tried to keep them back ; 
For the fierce west wind was blowing 

And the sky was wild and black. 



2 26 THE SCHOOL MISTRESS. 

There came a step behind me, 

A hand was on my hair, 
And my heart 'gan beating, beating. 

For I knew not who was there. 
Oh ! my heart 'gan beating, beating ; 

For I thought it might be he — 
My bonny, gallant lover 

Who had sailed away from me. — 
But 't was the poor school mistress 

Who had been a friend to me. 

She had a tender manner. 

For she had sorrowed too. 
She kissed me very softly 

As my mother used to do ; 
Till I forgot the west wind 

And the wild, dark sea. 
And the fickle, faithless lover 

Who had sailed away from me. 
For I thought of all the trouble 

That had come to her sweet heart ; 
How the cruel hand of sorrow 

Had rent her hopes apart, 



THE SCHOOL MISTRESS. 

And I sat a-dreaming, dreaming 
Of what my life would be 

If I lost the poor school mistress 
Who had been a friend to me. 

Oh my bonny, gallant lover ! 

I cannot quite forget 
All the happy, happy hours 

Of the vanished summers yet. 
But my bonny, gallant lover 

He sailed across the sea. 
And 'tis the poor school mistress 

Who has been a friend to me. 

I had a sunny vision 

Of a castle great and fair 
All built of gold and jewels 

And founded on the air. 
And I had, to enter thither, 

A bright enchanted key 
All made of shining jewels 

That the fays had given me. 



227 



228 THE SCHOOL MISTRESS. 

I went into a country 

Where were robbers fierce and strong. 
They took away my vision 

And the castle of my song. 
They banished all the fairies, 

And they stole the golden key, 
And there was none to pity 

And none to comfort me. 

I sat down in my sorro^ 

In that dark and dreary land. 
And the little poor school mistress 

Came and took me by the hand. 
And she soothed me in my trouble 

Very kind and tenderly, 
Till I ceased to mourn my castle 

And its bright enchanted key. 

My bonny, gallant lover. 

He sailed away from me. 
My fair enchanted castle 

I never more shall see. 



A FJ^ AG ME NT. 229 



But I know however dreary 
My future lot may be 

The little poor school mistress 
Will be a friend to me. 



A FRAGMENT. 

^F thou woulds't feel the glory of the night 
J^ And have her beauty sink into thy soul, 
eg Keep thou thy spirit free from earthly dross 
T And yield thee not to sin's unclean control. 

In holy meditation pray thy God 

To purge thy soul from every sinful stain ; 

Then wander 'neath the stars, the holy stars, 
And bow thee down, and know that life is vain. 

Life is vain. Oh but to spurn away 

This vail of flesh, and rise on wings of light 



230 A FRAGMENT. 



To yon far stars, yon bright and holy stars 
That gleam upon the misty veil of night ! 

Come, O ye night winds, come and lay your hands, 
Your hands of benediction soft and light 

Upon my brow and draw my soul more near 
The hushed and mystic beauty of the night. 




Indian Pipe. 



INDIAN PIPE. 

\NCE over a beautiful garden, 

All radiant with color and bloom, 
Where the winds were laden with fragrance, 
And the air was faint with perfume, 

A flame in devouring anger 

And pitiless passion swept ; 
And low in the graves of their brightness, 

The beautiful flowers slept. 

And there on a sweet summer morning. 
When the ashes were sodden with rain, 

An Indian pipe stood uplifting 
Its head o'er the desolate plain. 

Alone in its motionless beauty. 

Amid all that blackness, so white. 
Like a pure, bright star on the bosom 

Of a troubled and murky night — 



234 



INDIAN PIPE. 

A delicate spring-like flower, 
So waxen, one wondered almost 

Whether it really were substance 
Or only a hyacinth's ghost. 

The dream of a flower, down-fallen 
From one of the white clouds on high, 

Once blooming with myriad others 

In the wide-spreading fields of the sky. 

A fair flower saint who had shrived her. 
And freed her from passion and pain. 

And apart from the world in her cloister. 
Kept her garments of life free from stain. 

A sad flower, telling a story 

Of pain with its sweet woodland breath ; 
A glad flower, whispering softly 

Of good, and of life out of death. 

A beautiful flower to teach us 
A lesson of patience and trust. 



If You Held Your Hand To Me. 235 

Like a white soul unsullied by trial, 
Unsoiled by earth's dimness and dust. 

Like the light that shall shine out of darkness, 
Like the good that from evil shall come, 

Like a finger of light pointing upward. 
Straight up to the heavenly dome. 



|F you held your hand to me. 
Standing closely by my side 
Saying, "Darling, come to me 
Be my own and live with me." 
I'd not lay my hand in yours, though you stood here 
by my side. 

Our life paths lie far apart. 
Spite of grief and spite of pain. 



236 U You Held Your Hand To Me. 

Though I felt within my heart 
Great hot tears of anguish start, 
You and I walk not together, spite of grief and 
spite of pain. 

Listen to me far away. 
Soul of him I used to love, 
Grieving, well I know, to-day 
For a time gone by for aye, 
Grieving for the false one whom you used to love. 

Can you hear my whisper low 
In the far away south-land ? 
Does your heart beat fast and slow 
At a sound you used to know. 
At the murmur of a whisper in the far south-land ? 

Listen ! I am false 'tis shown ; 
Well you know it by that sigh. 
But, if all were fully known, 
Would you deem me cold as stone ? 
Yes ; you deem me false and trait 'rous by that weary 
sigh. 



If You Held Your Hand To Me. 237 

Listen ! fleeting years may go 
Joy and gladness bring to me, 
Bring they joy or bring they woe 
Joy like that I used to know 
Comes no more on earth for me, heartsick, weary me. 

From my hand I took your ring. 
Poor hand thus left desolate. 
If another love should bring 
Other ring more glittering 
Still my hand and I forever are ungemmed and 
desolate. 

Do you hear me, lover mine, 
Where the balmy breezes blow ? 
By the fragrant jasmine vine 
Do you lonely sit and pine 
For a breath to match in sweetness fragrance of the 
long ago ? 

I am very false to you. 

Yet the days will sometimes find 



238 V You Held Your Hand To Me. 

Something very fond and true 
In my heart, a dream of you. 
This is all the coming days will ever find. 

Soul of him I used to love, 
Do you ever fondly dream 
Of the nights when clear above 
Shone the moonbeams, and our love 
Made the whole wide world unto us an enchanted 
dream ? 

Do you dream of moments bright 
Gone away to come no more ? 
All alone you sit to-night. 
Love has faded and love's light 
Has gone out to shine for us, dear, never, never 
more. 

Listen, far away, to me, 
Soul of one I used to love, 
Think a tender thought of me. 
Though my faith so slight may be, 
Think one tender thought to-night of her you used 
to love. 



FLOWERS. 



239 



FLOWERS. 

^HE life the flowers live 
^ Is a life of light and bloom, 
j^Y) Of dreams of glory tangled 
^ In meshes of perfume. 

The love the flowers know 

Is a love of rare delights, 
Of fervid sun-god kisses. 

Of solemn star-lit nights, 

Of splendor, wealth, and beauty, 

Of glory passing thought, 
With evanescent sweetness, 

And weird enchantment fraught. 

The death the flowers die 

Is a falling into sleep. 
When the sunlight dreams to moonlight 

And all light to darkness deep. 



240 ^ STORM. 



And the dew, oh the dew ! 

Like a tender blessing falls, 
And the earth, oh the earth ! 

Like a tender lover calls. 



A STORM. 

HE sun kissed the water, 

And a cloud flew away. 
White as a snow-flake 

Or as storm-driven spray. 

Fair as the mountains 

Of the still land of dreams. 
Beautiful as woven 

Of the white moonbeams. 

The storm king arose 

In his strength and pride ; 



A PRAYER. 

Whispered to the cloud sprite, 
"Come, be my bride." 

Into his arms she floated, 

Kiss of the sun, 
How danced the merry rain 

Ere day was done ! 



241 



A PRAYER. 

^■ATHER, the twilight gathers close around me, 
The way is long and dim, I cannot see. 
The sun of hope is setting and the night tide 
Comes stealing o'er the dull earth silently. 

Throughout the hours of sorrow long and dreary 
Which wait before the coming of the day, 

My heavenly Father, be thou ever near me, 
Let thy sweet starlight brighten round my way. 



242 



THE EMPTY NEST 



I know that o'er the hills in glaring splendor 
The sun may rise into my eager ken — 

That many a happy day in the far future 
May gleam above my sad life once again. 

But while the night her lonely watch is keeping 
Let moonbeams o'er me shed their quivering light, 

Until the silvery glimmer of their presence 
Be merged into the infinite of light. 



THE EMPTY NEST. 

OULDST thou know the infinite pathos of life 

Behold it here. 
These leaves that were once so fresh and green 

Are brown and sere. 



And the nest where the baby birds once slept 
'Neath the wings of love 

Is open to every storm that blows 
From the skies above. 




THE EMPTY NEST. • 243 

Once what twittering life was here, 

Now far away, 
When here in the shadows the birdies sang 

Through the warm spring day ; 

Building deftly with dainty care 

The little nest, 
Telling their stories of love, and hope 

Of the summer's best, 

Singing their songs till the world was glad 

With their winsome joy, 
When earth was fair and when love was young 

And without annoy. 

Here in the shadows the baby birds 

Woke into life one day. 
Here they twittered and chattered and talked 

All the summer away. 

Hence, when their wings were grown, they flew, 

Whither none know. 
And the poor little nest is open to day 

To storms that blow. 



244 THE EMPTY NEST. 

II 

I know a home that lies in the land 

Of the wide, dim past, 
Where the shadows of years that have passed away 

Are around it cast. 

Here in a chamber old and wide 

A cradle stands 
Once swung too and fro in the olden time 

By loving hands. 

Here in the downy depths within 

Was the baby laid. 
Here in the pillow. is the impress still 

Of the baby head. 

Once what wonderful life was here, 

Now far away. 
When the baby laughed and cooed and smiled 

Through the summer day. 



THE EMPTY NEST. 

Here in the rooms the children played 
'Neath the smiles of love; 

Hence they have wandered, wide and far, 
Through the world to rove. 



Ill 



Never more will these leaves grow green. 

Now brown and sere ; 
Never again will the birdies come 

That builded here. 

But other leaves will as freshly grow 

Another spring, 
And above in the shadows other throats 

Will as blithely sing. 

And none will remember, none will grieve 

For what is gone. 
The present with all its wealth is here, 

The past is done. 



245 



246 



DEAD LOVE. 



Oh empty, pitiful nest ! my eyes 

Are dim with tears. 
Oh lonely home still fair with the light 

Of vanished years ! 

The days go by, and all things fade 
With the fading years 

Into the land of forgetfulness. 
What worth are tears? 



DEAD LOVE. 

ITTING beside my early dead 
With folded hands and drooping head 
And heart slow throbbing in its pain, 
I think upon the dead of Nain. 

I know, O God, that it is sin 
To pray for life to enter in 



DEAD LOVE. 

This still, cold form that lieth here 
All white and wan upon its bier. 

God, I seek not to complain : 
My dead is not the dead of Nain. 
And yet I think how brightly ran 
The quickened blood when life began 
To pulse along each sluggish vein 

Of him who long in death had lain. 
How softly up his cheek there stole 
The flush of the awaking soul. 
As rosy light illumes the skies 
Soon as the day begins to rise. 
Such vision soothed her spirit's pain 
Who wept beside her dead in Nain. 

1 think of it and cannot pray 
To see the breaking of the day 
Across the darkness of my pain. 
My dead is not the dead of Nain. 

My dear, despised, early dead, 
Above thee never tears are shed. 
I crush my own back whence they came 
For every drop proclaims my shame. 



247 



248 DEAD LOVE. 

Yet, if I dared, would prayer be vain ? 
The dead was raised of old in Nain. 

My dead, my child, my life, my soul. 
In that thou diest, there dies the whole 
Of life, or light, or love for me. 
What other joy had she of old 
Who, wild with sorrow uncontrolled, 
Walked weeping in the funeral train 
That passed through the gates of Nain ? 

I can but dream that in thine eyes 

I see the wakened life arise. 

I can but think of what thou wert 

Soft-nestling on my tender heart. 

I cannot pray amid my pain 

That thou shouldst wake like him in Nain. 




A HAUNT. 249 



A HAUNT. 



HERE the sunbeams quiver 
O'er the woodland mould, 
^ Where the breezes shiver 

Through the tree-tops old, 



Fragrant boughs magnolian, 
Whisp'ring boughs of pine. 

Like some harp a^olian 
Breathe a voice divine. 

Something sweet and holy- 
Wraps the place around. 

Tender melancholy 
Lingers in each sound. 

In the forest olden, 
When the day is low, 

When the sunbeams golden 
Quiver ere they go. 



250 



A HAUNT. 

Mem'ry, softly breathing 
Tender thoughts of yore, 

Brings back many an evening 
That will come no more. 

Spot where sweetest fancies 
Blossomed long ago, 

Home of bright romances 
Fleet to come and go. 

Wrapped in tender visions 
Brought by spirits three 

From the fields elysian 
Long ago to me, — 

Fairest be thy flowers 
Of the summer's bloom ; 

Peaceful be thine hours 
In the forest gloom. 



A SUNSET. 



A SUNSET. 



251 



IT was long ago. 
Soft sunset light shone over earth and sea. 
The east was rosy-tinted like the past. 
The west was red with glory like the days 
That are to be ; and now the day was done. 
Far up the shining west an angel's hand 
Had open flung the gates of Paradise, 
Letting the light of heaven steal softly through 
To paint the glow of heaven upon the sky ; 
Purple and red and broadly gleaming gold, 
The light of jasper and of amethyst, 
Till the stars shone, each several star one pearl. 
And the moon floated up the far horizon 
All white and wan with dreaming holy dreams, 
Drifting from some enchanted land beyond. 
The spell of that enchantment still upon her. 
Wrapping a misty veil about her face 
That she might dream the better in that cloud. 



252 



A SUNSET. 



The tossing sea 
On many a flashing billow caught the light 
And wore it for a diadem awhile ; 
And, surging upward toward the far still moon, 
The treasure she had given clasped closer still 
And changed it into pearls that hid away 
In the deep bosom of the heaving main. 
Wide were the heavenly gates above the sea ; 
And whispering through them came a gentle spirit, 
Soft-sighing zephyr breathing o'er the sea. 
Laden with balm from heaven's healing shore, 
Kissing the earth with benison of peace. 

The whispering winds 
Came from the plains, laden with incense clouds 
From the far forest temples where they'd lingered. 

All around was still ; 
Save that, afar, within those forest temples 
The pines were chanting low their evening hymn. 



PAST AND FUTURE. 



253 



PAST AND FUTURE. 

LOFT we'll fly on the wings of the wind, 
With never a thought of those behind. 
^^ The land we leave is black with night. 
'' Before us spread the realms of light, 
Where rosy clouds float over the sky 
And rosy waters beneath them lie. 
Oh waters kissed to a tender glow 
By the clouds above them that stoop so low ! 
Oh waves that bloom like a splendid flower. 
Into red or white, in sun or shower ! 
But every shower is a golden rain ; 
For heaven is in love with hill and plain. 
And every drop on bud or tree 
Repeats the story of Danae. 
O'er hill and hollow, away and away. 
The wild winds fly and never stay. 
Behind us the land is black with night. 
Before us stretch the realms of light. 



254 



LOUISIANA. 



But the moonlight shines, and the soft stars glow. 
And the hushed white waters softly flow, 
When night comes down with darkness deep 
And hushes the world to dreamy sleep. 




LOUISIANA. 

1877. 

OULDST thou see Louisiana? 

By the "murm'ring Mexic Sea" 
Lonely and sad and desolate 

And beautiful sits she. 



Her heart is sore with many wounds, 
Her eyes are dim with tears. 

She counts her losses o'er and sees 
No hope in coming years. 

Her hands have lost their scepter proud ; 
Her brow, its diadem. 



LOUISIANA. 

There 's blood upon her fair white feet 
And on her garment's hem. 

There 's silence on her borders. 

No voice of man is heard ; 
Only the chanting of the pines 

Or song of forest bird. 

There 's strife within her cities. 

Want sitteth at her gate. 
Behold her house unto her 

Is left most desolate. 

Her orange groves are many, 
Her cotton fields are fair, 

And proudly float the tresses 
Of her canes upon the air. 

But a viper 's in her bosom, 
A blight, upon her brow. 

How are the mighty fallen ! 
The beautiful laid low ! 



255 



256 THE DEA TH ANGEL . 

And so Louisiana, 

By the "murm'ring Mexic Sea,' 
Sits clothed about in garments fair ; 

But who so sad as she ? 



THE DEATH ANGEL. 

, ZRAEL Angel of Death. 

His pinions are white as the snow ; 
His eyes are as dark as life's eclipse. 
He gathers our souls with a kiss of his lips, 

Then we sigh not for long ago. 

O beautiful Angel of Death ! 

What a light in those mystical eyes ! 
When it shines on our souls all troublings cease 
And their waters lie still as the River of Peace 

Li the Garden of Paradise. 



PARTING. 

There's a vale where the Angel of Death 

To welcome our spirits stands ; 
There the shadows are lying so still and deep 
And silence and beauty forever sleep, 
In the mystical Border Lands. 



The Valley is calm and still ; 

The Shadow is cool and deep. 
After the tumult, the noise, and the blare ; 
After life's long turmoil, and light, and glare, 

'Tis sweet in that vale to sleep. 



257 



PARTING. 

;ET me rest once more upon thy heart. 
'T is the last time, beloved, 't is the last. 
Even on thy breast how slowly, slowly beats 
My heart that in the old days beat so fast. 



258 PARTING. 

Let me once more lie close within thy arms, 
Let me once more feel thy soft kisses' breath ; 
For there will be no loving arms to hold me, 
Nor loving kisses in the night of death. 

I shrink back from the darkness of the shadow ; 
For you are here and I must go alone, 
And you will hunger so with eager longing 
To see my face again when I am gone. 

And then when all your heart is sick with longing, 
Soft eyes of love will shyly look at you. 
And haunt you in the dark-time and the light-time, 
And you will vainly struggle to be true. 

And then, I know, the effort will grow fainter, 
And sweeter grow the music of her tone ; 
And after while you '11 give your sweet love to her, 
The tender, strong love that once was my own. 

Beloved one, forgive these foolish tear-drops. 
Forgive me ; love me ; 't is the last, last time. 



ABSOLVO TE. 259 

Forever in my ears I hear the mingling 

Of moaning funeral-knell and wedding-chime. 

Oh I am very weak ! and it grows darker. 
Oh love me, love me, love me more and more ! 
Oh hold me closer ! for I hear the dashing 
Of icy waves upon an icy shore. 



ABSOLVO TE. 
I 

IN a vast cathedral dim and old 
A maiden knelt in her sorrow cold, 
^ Telling her sin with sigh and tear 

And grief it was pitiful to hear. 
Till the priest stooped low, and tenderly 
Whispered to her, "Absolve te." 



26o ABSOLVO TE. 

II 

Dear Saviour, here at thy feet I lie, 

And the outside world with its pomp goes by. 

I wait and listen with eager ear 

The words of peace and life to hear. 

Answer, my Saviour, speak to me. 

Say to my soul. Absolve te. 

Ill 

I ask not for gifts of wealth and ease, 

For the vain, sweet things that mortals please. 

I even ask not to lie on thy breast 

And taste the bliss of thy perfect rest. 

But I pray thee, my Saviour, speak to me, 

Say to my soul, Absolvo te. 

IV 

I lie at thy feet, I will not go. 

I will wait for thy blessing even so. 



ABSOLVO TE. 261 

Thou wilt not send me empty away ; 
For thy God-spirit broke for me one day. 
Then answer me, Saviour, speak to me, 
Say to my soul, Absolvo te. 



"Absolvo te," and I 'm white from sin ; 
Into thy grace I may enter in. 
"Absolvo te," and the mighty God 
In my mortal soul shall make abode. 
I wait, I wait, O speak to me ! 
Say to my soul, Absolvo te. 



VI 



Absolvo te. The world is wide, 
But its joys can never my sorrows hide. 
Thou alone canst give me release. 
Thou hast the gift of eternal peace. 
Answer me. Saviour, speak to me. 
Say to my soul, Absolvo te. 



262 DOUBTS. 

VII 

I am thine own, thou liv'st for me; 

I am thine own, thou lovest me. 

Holy thou art, but thy life didst give 

That sinful souls might forever live, 

And thy blood that was shed for all, for me, 

Answereth for thee, "Absolvo te." 



DOUBTS. 

N angel came from the sky one day 

And whispered, "Peace be to thy soul." 
I sat by the ocean and watched the waves 
Sweep in with their surging roll, 
And a strange, sweet peace came after the words 
To brood o'er my troubled soul. 

I watched the billows come sweeping in 
Crested with foam caps white. 



THE BABY. 26 

The sky was far, the words were gone, 

The salt spray dimmed my sight. 
How do I know that the angel spake ? 

Or I heard his words aright ? 



THE BABY. 

]0U have heard how the gate of dreamland 
Lies near to the gate of day. 
Our baby was going to dreamland 
And he wandered and lost his way. 

The gate of dreams is of crystal, 

And golden the gate of light. 
We thought he had gone to dreamland. 

But he went up to heaven in the night. 

He smiled in his sleep, and we whispered, 

"What do the angels say?" 
We thought him in dreamland, when gone 

To heaven thro' the gates of day. 



264 ^ WEEP. 



I weep 
For one who shrank from treading the stern and 

towering steep, 
And turned into the valleys where the smiling waters 

leap. 

I pray 
For one who walks in sunlight on a broad and 

pleasant way 
Where are flowery meadows smiling to welcome feet 

that stray. 

I smile 
For one who lingered with us but a short and sunny 

while, 
And in heaven with the angels keeps his spirit free 

from guile. 



WEAVING. 265 

God sees my tears, 
God hears my prayers, 
God loved the little child 
And kept him undefiled. 




WEAVING. 

HAT kind of a woof doth the maiden weave, 

Weave in her sunlit dreams, 
While in and out of the shining web 
The sparkling shuttle gleams. 
And the yellow light of her hair so bright 
In a golden glory streams ? 

She weaves a dainty and delicate web 

Of bud and flowery bloom. 
With warp of fancy and filling of love 

All woven in beauty's loom. 
With a sunny shine in the web divine 

As it comes from beauty's loom. 



266 WEAVING. 

What kind of a woof do the weird Fates weave 

In their solemn silence cold ? 
Dread is the silence ; dark, the web, 

And the shuttle, rough and old. 
Wliat do they weave that the angels grieve 
As they bend down to behold ? 
Forever and ever, they weave and weave 

In cold and quivering gloom. 
With warp of sorrow and filling of woe 
All woven in life's dark loom, 
With tangled threads in somber webs 

That only suit the tomb. 

But the shining angels weave a woof 

Fragrant with rare perfumes 
With warp of trial and filling of love 

All woven in heavenly looms. 
And Fate's dark thread or youth's bright web 

Before it fades and glooms. 



LOVE. 267 



LOVE. 

'HE soul stands silent and voiceless, 
) Its power unknown, unguessed. 
Till the touch of love awakes it 

And calls it from its rest ; 
As the sighing voice of -^olus. 

Sweeping from o'er the sea. 
Wakes the lonely silent wind-harp 

Unto perfect melody. 

The soul that has felt love's beauty 

And has seen that beauty die 
Can never again at its summons 

Awake to a sweet reply ; 
As the harp when its chords are broken 

Is silent forevermore, 
Though ^olus sweep in his power 

Up from the dim sea shore. 



268 THE RING. 



THE RING. 

JOU have lasted long, bright band of gold, 
Though the love that gave you 's dead and 

cold. 
And the hand that wore you 's bought and sold, 
And the fair, fleet days that came of old 
Have passed away like a tale that 's told. 

Bright as of old you glitter here, 
Undimmed by the breath of many a year 
That was carried away on its funeral bier. 
When winds of winter were wild and drear, 
When leaves of winter were sad and sere. 

Hands which trembled when you were new ; 

Lips that vowed so true, so true ; 

Cheeks that blushed with the warm, sweet hue 

Of red June roses for you, for you ; 

How changed ! how changed since you were new ! 



GONE. 269 

Hands that clasped are far apart. 
Sundered wide is heart from heart. 
That which was made of the jeweler's art 
Is stronger than that of the human heart, 
And the ring will shine though lovers part. 



GONE. 



HUNGER and thirst for a sight of my darling, 
The flying gold gleam of her beautiful hair, 
^ The smile that enthralled me, the voice that 
enchained me, 
The fall of her light foot on .floor or on stair. 

I long for the beautiful bride of my spirit, 

The soul of my soul who will never be mine. 

Who grew weary of earth and the world's winsome 

wooing, 
And one day went higher to taste the divine. 



270 



MELUSINA. 



She rose in her beauty from earth's dark enfolding, 
From grave dust to wander in heaven's high halls. 
But my heart, in her own held, lies under the grasses, 
And never will rise until Death to me calls. 

Till Death whispers, "Here in the warm earth is 

waiting 
A home that is narrow and silent and deep ; 
Come, dwell in this house I have fashioned to hold 

you 
And drink the deep draught of Lethean sleep." 



MELUSINA. 

*^^i|*;ISTEN, my children, listen, 

^MA. To the voice of the wild salt sea." 

?"0h ! we hear it calling, calling, 
And the gleam of its waves we see. 



MEL us IN A. 271 

Come up from the wild salt water. 

We are cold and wet in the spray, 
And the sea is calling, calling, 

Calling our lives away. 

O sing us a song of the sunshine 
That falls upon flowers and trees, 

Until we forget the billows 

And the swell of the surging seas. 

And loosen, loosen your tresses. 

All yellow and shining and fair. 
O sing us a song of the sunshine 

While we tie up your shimmering hair." 

The lady unfastened her tresses 

Till they fell in a flood to her knee. 

But the bright golden hair as she loosed it 
Fell shimmering green like the sea. 

Oh ! the lady sang of the sunshine, 

But the children shrank from her knee ; 



272 



MELUSINA. 

For the musical sound of her singing 
Was the rippling voice of the sea. 

"O listen, listen, my children ! 

Shrink not away in fear. 
List to the ocean voices 

And tell me all that ye hear. 

Look over the shining waters 
And tell me all that ye see. 

And kiss me, kiss me, children ; 
And will ye remember me ?" 

"O tell us where thou art going ! 

The waves rise up to thy knee. 
O tell us where thou art going 

Away on the cold false sea ! ' ' 

"Out on the rippling waters 

I am going far away ; 
For the sea is calling, calling 

To my heart, and I cannot stay." 



A VALENTINE. 273 



A VALENTINE. 

IF I were a leaf on a tree, 

And you were the wind from the west, 
Would you waft me away in your strong 
embrace? 
And pillow my head on your breast ? 

If you were the sun in his strength, 

And I were a morsel of dew, 
Would you lift me away from my low estate ? 

And carry me nearer you ? 

If you were a king in the east. 

Should I, in the east, be a queen ? 
Should I sit by your side on a throne of gold 

All sparkling with diamond sheen ? 

Should I dwell in an ivory palace 

With odors of musk in my hair. 
While a tall eastern king should lie at my feet 

And music should fill the air ? 



2 74 



FLOWERS. 



If you were the king among men, 

And only my love were mine, 
Would you single me out from all maidens on earth 

To choose me your valentine ? 



FLOWERS. 

»-0R March the violets come, 

For April, daffodillies. 
May and June the roses bloom. 

In July the lilies. 
In August comes the golden rod, 

Asters, in September. 
In October leaves grow red 

And fall off in November. 
Then the flowers go to sleep 

In their warm earth-houses. 
Every one through all the long 

Winter snow-time drowses. 



SONNET TO KEATS. 

But when spring comes, up they start, 
Stretch their hands a minute, — 

"Time to do our summer's work, 
Violets, you begin it." 



^/:i 



SONNET TO KEATS. 

POET whose great soul shrank back from death 
Seeing the mighty things of life so well, 
Longing to leave upon all time the spell 
And power of thine own poetic breath 
Breathing itself into such forms that Death 
Should have no power to weaken or dispel 
Their fair immortal life ! Though darkness fell 
So early on thy eyes and hushed thy breath, 
I hold thee blessed beyond compare 
That thus, while all thy life was in its prime. 
Ere came the weakness or the cold despair 



276 

Of failing powers, thou, borne from the shores of 

time 
On through the gates of morn, wide-flung and fair, 
Didst waken radiant in a sunnier clime. 



HAVE much to do, 

I have much to say, 

While time and tide are slipping away. 

With my thought unsaid and my work undone 
Time and tide are gliding on. 
I've a song to sing so sweet and clear 
The world shall pause from its toil to hear. 
The world shall forget its toil and pain 
And yearn to list to my song again. 



The End. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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